


Edge Of Oblivion

by lalalita



Category: Transformers: Prime
Genre: Action, Adventure, After Life, Angst, Corruption, Death, F/F, F/M, Flirting, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Gen, Ghosts, Gore, M/M, Mutual Pining, Mystery, NSFW, Pining, Romance, Smut, bc tbh i came up with these at 4am and my brain is fried, i'll add more as we get there, it's going to hurt but it'll be worth it
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-20
Updated: 2020-10-13
Packaged: 2021-02-28 22:34:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 9
Words: 34,361
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23224867
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lalalita/pseuds/lalalita
Summary: Ten years have passed since Cybertron's core was once again ignited, and in that time the world has seen much change. By order of the Nova Council, Autobots and Decepticons have been forced into exile, hunted down and branded as war criminals. But, when an ancient enemy returns to destroy Cybertron both factions, past and present, must join forces in the epic final battle for their homeworld. Will the two divided factions be able to come together against a common threat, or will the bad blood destroy Cybertron once and for all? (TFP/RID2015 hybrid).
Relationships: Elita One/Optimus Prime, Ironhide/Chromia (implied), Jazz/Prowl, i'll tag as they pop up because i haven't really decided yet hehehe
Comments: 65
Kudos: 61





	1. Visions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back and with an all-new fic! This is something I've been planning/wanting to write for over a year and I've finally gathered the courage to put pen to paper. Not to mention with this pandemic going on and being since placed under isolation for the next month, I have the time to sit down and really focus on writing.
> 
> Idk if anyone cares but in my mind I picture this happening in the TFP world on animation, and I call it a hybrid because it has RID2015 characters crossing over into the TFP world? Idk. You can picture it however you picture it but for me, TFP animation style was so beautiful that's where my mind goes! So yeah, elements from both shows have been combined to create and parallel universe of sorts. There will be characters from both series (and fan-faves in the Aligned continuity) popping up, with some call backs, themes, and easter eggs. Make sure to keep an eye out!
> 
> As an additional note, inspiration for the siren's sound were based off the Tripods from War of the Worlds, here's a link to a soundbite for better reference while reading: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6qJQlfMMNmw -- (it is loud and unsettling so be sure to adjust your volume accordingly).
> 
> I'm also in the process of creating a 'Reading Playlist' of songs that I listened to while writing the chapter, that I think evoke the powerful emotions in the scene. This chapter's track can be found here: (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8IU4vVmXZI4).
> 
> Lastly, please follow, kudos, and comment! I love reading what you all have to say, and would love to hear your thoughts on this as I take a bit of a different approach and turn with my content. And also, remember to keep it positive, we're all friends here! :3
> 
> \- Lita

Pedes hit the ground in an all-out sprint across the rugged unfamiliar terrain, copper coloured metallic plates covered in layer upon layer of ash and rust. Heavy ventilations struggled to regulate the thick smoke caught in the air, choking against toxic plumes as it burned down his intake and stung sensitive optics. All around the broken infrastructure gave no hint as to the surroundings, an alien, unknown world caught in chaos, fairing no better than his own home from the looks of it. In the distance another explosion sent the planet quaking, plates under-pede buckling from the seismic tremors and made the mighty frame bobble, regaining equilibrium just in time to dive over a broken transport.

“ _Optimus…_ ” a voice called, barely audible over the heavy cannon fire and ongoing explosions peppering the horizon.

The Prime looked around wildly, trying to find the voice’s origin – trying to find _her_ – but failed, sending his spark into an absolute frenzy.

“Where are you?” Optimus boomed, harsh ventilations making normally smooth baritone ragged and worn. “Elita, where are you?” he shouted again across the battlefield, coughing on the burning smoke.

“ _Here..._ ” Elita’s voice called to him again, distant but he heard her all the same.

Optimus broke into another sprint, following her direction with a gait comparable to a bat out of hell. Frantic. Afraid. Spark pulses hammered behind grimy crimson chestplates, aching within the confines knowing its other half was nowhere in sight. Cyan optics darted from shadow to shadow across the expansive battlefield, no faces to be made, just dark figures hidden behind blazing fires and black smoke. Strides slowed to a sudden halt, unsure of the direction, unsure if he should go another way, unsure about everything.

“Please! Tell me where you are!” the Prime pleaded, whirling around to try and catch a glimpse of the fuchsia form, but only seeing destruction, decay, and the ongoing war. Opening his mouth to again call for her a loud siren blared from above and cut him off, tinny pitch oscillating between a low and higher frequency in an almost signal; a communication.

Optimus reached up to cover his more sensitive audial still recovering from a recent injury, squinting at the ungodly noise as it echoed across the battlefield, and to his terror, received multiple responses. One by one the same siren sounded at multiple points in the distance in a cacophony he had never before heard or bore witness to in all his lifecycle. The Prime simply stood frozen in place, watching as long mechanical tentacles fell from the dark smoky clouds above.

Each of their ends collided with the ground in an audial-shattering CLANK, reverberating so thunderously the soundwaves could be felt within his spark chamber. _They were here_. Who were they? What were they? Optimus didn’t know. Just as he didn’t know this planet or this battle. No Autobots or Decepticons for miles around. All he knew was that he had to find Elita, he _needed_ to find her.

Spark pulses seized in his chassis and the Prime barreled frantically in the same direction, watching as one by one the metallic tentacles descended from the sky, their originating ships still having yet to be seen.

“ELITA! WHERE ARE YOU?” Optimus bellowed, peering through a parting in the plumes of smoke at a figure standing at the top of a ridge. Finally, something familiar. Pulses quickened.

“ _Lita_ –” he choked in partial disbelief, blinking once then twice in case it was just a mirage. The figure remained in place, a silhouetted shadow he’d recognize anywhere.

Running as fast as long legs could carry him the Prime started up the ridge, leaping and shoving through the littered pathway of fallen infrastructure; a heap of what once use to be a dwelling-tower he assumed. Before he could think further on the matter another long and thick metal tendril SLAMMED down ahead of his path, causing Optimus to screech to a halt and spark pulses lurch in his chassis. They were far larger than previously anticipated, each the approximate width of a building and ten times taller. Cyan hues shot upwards, following the swaying mass up to the clouds in hopes to see what it connected to but only found dark smoke and embers swirling on a bitter wind.

The tentacle slid forwards on its own volition, pulled by the unknown ship it connected to high above the clouds, simply trailing behind as a bizarre dead weight. The member drudged up pounds of destroyed buildings like it were an Energon jelly, unfazed by the heavy mounds blocking its pathway as it followed the unknown trajectory prompted by haunting sirens still echoing overhead.

Optimus leapt over the sliding mass and forged ahead, processors whirring a mile a minute and spark pulsating at such a frenzied rate it stole the air from his vents. Optical ridges narrowed and with whatever remaining energy he had in his reserves reached the top, coughing hoarsely on the thick muggy air burning his intake.

“Elita–” he panted, staring at the silhouette standing still at the edge of the ridge, long frayed cape dancing in the cold wind behind her. Crimson chestplates slick with perspiration and coated in dirt heaved, pedes stuck in place as though caught in tar despite how much he wanted to step forwards.

“ _Lita_ …?” Optimus murmured, baritone lifting in question. Still she said nothing. She did nothing. Elita’s statuesque fuchsia form remained turned from him, staring out at the hell erupting below and around them.

Ashes like snowfall gently drifted down from dark polluted clouds, covering them both in grey specks in a strange serenity amidst the chaos. Elita’s scarlet cape flapped in the biting wind, the edges tattered and torn after seeing eons of warfare. Between the folds of fabric Optimus could just make out deep, jagged scars marring the entirety of her backplates, wounds he’d never seen before, wounds he wondered when she had acquired and how. He knew every inch of her frame as if it were his own, large servos experts in mapping the curves and contours beneath his touch and had explored the sleek surface a thousand times over in the dead of night.

Another mechanical tentacle unraveled from the demented heavens and CRASHED into the ground an arm’s length from where Elita stood, seismic vibrations rupturing beneath their pedes. Brassy sirens rang out from above, their volume only growing as the invasion continued.

“ _Lita, please_ –” Optimus choked, usually smooth baritone now crackling on bouts of static. Reaching towards her desperately with an outstretched servo his frozen pedes stood in place by an invisible force. Optics blinked against the licks of nearby fires and burning embers, sting of coolant and smoke producing a glossy look in cyan hues. _Come back to me_ …

Elita’s helm turned to the side at his inner plea, slowly shifting to face him in full. Optimus swallowed against the knot trapped in his intake, spark pulses palpitating painfully. Glassy cyan optics finally found hers, unrecognizable from what he’d come to know and love after their millions of years together. Cool cerulean hues replaced with infinite white, their brilliance so bright it obscured the entirety of her optics at a blinding rate, casting an almost ethereal glow over her cheekplates.

“ _Optimus_ ,” Elita whispered in relief, reaching out with a slender servo across the divide. By fate’s design yards of wreckage separating them was suddenly swallowed by the ground, closing the distance until their digit tips were just a breath apart.

Optimus vented, feeling the familiar cool aura she naturally emitted mix with his warmer radiance, but still, she was just out of reach; always just beyond his grasp. The Prime stretched as far as he could without dislocating a shoulder joint, but at this point was more than willing to risk it, in fact the outcome would be preferable if it meant reaching her. Desperation rose steadily with every attempt to grab the waiting slender servo as the unknown metallic tendrils dragged across the planet’s surface, and sirens grew to a deafening rate.

Clashes of lightning illuminated the ominous shadows looming in the black clouds, ships larger than that he’d ever seen before, or knew could exist. Ashes continued their gentle fall from above, delicately covering their war-torn frames like snow on a quiet winter’s morning. Beautiful. Fragile. Fleeting.

“Come with me,” the Prime ordered, words coming more as a beg. White optics stared back into cyan, emotionless, as though she were looking past him, or rather, _through_ him.

“I am not leaving you, not again,” he protested, “Please, _come with me_. ”

“Optimus, _I have to do this_ …” Elita replied brokenly, swallowing against the rising lump in her vocoder. Time was running out.

“No, there must be another way. _We will find another way_ – ” he protested, volume growing louder to combat the shrieks of metal and haunting sirens. “Please, Lita, you don’t have to do this!”

“ _I do, Optimus_. I am the only one who can,” Elita answered, lip plates pressing in a thin line but still they quivered. “I know you do not understand now, but in time, you will…” she paused, drawing a trembling ventilation, “ _I have no choice_.”

Before more could be said the ground broke between them, opening a deep chasm leading to the bowels of the planet. The surface plates quaked violently, and Optimus shook his helm. No. He wasn’t going to leave her behind. _Not again_.

“Dammit, Elita – I _order_ you to come with me. _NOW_!” he boomed, servo holding out towards her as the separation pulled them farther and farther apart. Spark pulses lurched in their chamber, anguish bleeding out on his EM Field so powerfully it could be felt for miles around. Cyan never wavered from stark white, wanting nothing more than to see those beautiful cerulean optics again; wanting nothing more than to have more time.

Pretty features contorted into that of pure agony, reciprocating the spark-break as it billowed from her EM Field to mix with his. Blinding white optics glowed brighter and brighter by the second, masking her features until only an outline of her helm was visible.

“I will find you,” Elita called to him, voice losing the battle to the spark-rattling sirens, distant explosions, and seismic quakes rumbling from all around. “ _I will find you, I promise_ –” she shouted, servo finally falling back to her side.

The Prime choked, fighting to break free of his invisible confines and go to her but it was in vain, all he could do was watch as the hellish world erupted around and between them. Leaving her behind just as he had done those many years ago…

“I will not leave you again, _I won’t–_ ” Optimus protested with a cry, the world crumbling away to decay. Elita’s frame became consumed with light but still he called to her, “I won’t leave you!”

_FIND ME –_

The Prime jolted upright with a gasp, Elita’s voice ringing through his helm like a faulty record. Panting on ragged ventilations spark pulses frantically seized. A shaking servo reached up on instinct to cover over hot chestplates slippery with perspiration, but even with digits clutched at the slick center-seam it brought little remedy to the aching pulses. Blinking rapidly Optimus finally dispelled the nightmare from his vision, staring at the empty hab-suite just as he had last seen it prior to entering recharge.

A deflating sigh escaped past parted lip plates and he slumped back against the wall with a heavy THUD, its cold surface a modest comfort to the overheating crimson mass. Both servos rubbed at tired optics, massaging throbbing temples on either side of his helm, all of him dripping wet and far too hot to be considered remotely comfortable. Kicking off the damp tangled coverings he pulled himself out of berth, coming to stand with a chorus of pops and creaks from aged joints. Optimus hardly noticed, optics transfixed on the small porthole peeking out to the depths of space floating by.

Trudging over for better vantage he eased his weight onto a bent arm, propping himself in front of the thick glass pane to stare into the nothingness as he always came to do on restless nights. Ever since returning to the Well then finding himself in the realm of the Primes Optimus had been plagued with a listless processor and spark. Where once the Matrix had been the overwhelming stimuli blocking out his personal demons now the voices of old had been put to rest indefinitely, the ancient relic since relinquished to Primus when he returned the All-Spark.

Those times felt like nothing but a blur, almost preferable if it meant he could close his optics without reliving the same spark-wrenching nightmare over and over again. Weary cyan hues vacantly stared out to the myriad of stars glittering as far as his optics cared to wander, a small infinity of planets, suns, and possible places where she could be. Once again too far away for him to reach, despite how fiercely he tried.

In the Well he had slim hope she’d be there waiting, and the thought of being with her for eternity, safe and sound, made the sacrifice preferable in his eyes. But for the brief moment his spark passed before collected by his ancestors no trace of Elita had been found, her energy, her spark, nothing but a silent void he alone inhabited. Out there, somewhere, hiding amongst the stars she was alive, she _had_ to be, and the largest part of the Prime hoped she was looking just as desperately for him. Optimistic to a fault, but at this point he had to be, not for the Autobots, not for his team, but for himself.

“ _Where are you?_ ” he whispered, helm coming to rest against the bent arm pressed above the windowpane, optics unwavering from deep space. “I know you are out there… you _have_ to be. All our journeys to new worlds, every corner of this galaxy we have nearly come to travel… and yet you remain elusive to me. I can feel you still, but… why can I not _find_ you?” his voice trailed off, catching himself with a low sigh and shake of his helm.

“I am doing it again, aren’t I?” Optimus murmured, digits curling inward to rest against his palm.

“ _I never said it was a bad thing_ …”


	2. Here With You

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey friends, I'll try to update consistently once a week while in quarantine. Really, it'll depend on the next chapter and if I complete it so there's content in the back pocket to cushion. Anyways, I personally really loved writing this chapter and I hope you like it ;w;
> 
> CHAPTER TRACK (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OtY512Euakg)
> 
> Remember to follow, fave, and comment below! I love reading what you all have to say and where you think this is going, so please let me know! So much of my writing is fuelled by feedback, so keep it up! :3

“ _I never said it was a bad thing_ …”

Turning to the side dimmed cyan hues fell to the bright fuchsia form, propped up on her side of the berth that had been vacant for far too long.

“You never said it was a good thing either,” he replied dryly.

“True. But it is possible for things to be neither good nor bad, Prime,” Elita countered, patting at the empty spot beside her with a knowing look. Optimus complied instantly. Settling on his back with the coverings haphazardly thrown back over his legs.

Her smaller servo lifted to rest over his center-seam, immediately bringing a calming peace by touch alone. Delicate digits thumbed slow circles over the agitated spark pulses, easing them in seconds just as she always did. The gentle action drew a quiet rumble from the baritone vocoder, reverberating through his frame so that crimson rattled briefly against fuchsia.

“You have never been particularly apt at keeping things from me,” she murmured, voice kept to a hushed whisper. “So, will you offer the thoughts plaguing your processors voluntarily, or must I pry them from you?”

Peeking over to her Optimus knew it’d be a losing battle to hide his thoughts, and the wry grin flickering over his mouthplates said just that. For as long as he’d known her Elita held a certain power over him, reverting the tight-lipped Prime to a sieve by one look alone. Besides the fact he _couldn’t_ keep anything from her, Optimus didn’t _want_ to, she was about the only person in the entire universe he could talk to about anything. They’d always shared a similar standing, operating on the same wavelength, knowing without speaking, such as in this instance. Commander, Conjunx, and Confidant, Elita wore many hats, just as he did.

“Am I losing my processors, Lita?” the mech asked tiredly, glancing over to the fuchsia femme who pursed her lip plates.

“Speaking your thoughts out loud is not a sign of madness, Optimus. At least, _to a certain extent_ …” she offered lightly, then shook her helm. “It could be a coping mechanism. Given the life you have lived, I am surprised you have not done it more often.”

Optimus vented, unsure whether or not the answer sufficed. A beat. Comfortable silence.

“Coping mechanism…” the Prime repeated, more so to himself if anything. Coping, what? Coping and loss often went hand in hand, usually denoting a grief-inflicting change of some sort. But, how was that relevant to his recent lamentations?

Optics fell to her servo still massaging comforting circles over his chassis, feeling his spark thrum contentedly, following her touch like a cyberhound would a transport. Always chasing after her even in the depths of his being.

“Have I lost you then?” he finally asked, still watching the steady passes of her digits over his chestplates. “Am I coping your loss… despite you being here with me? By definition, that is a contradiction, Elita…” Was it even possible? To grieve someone even though they continued to exist? Even though they were still with you?

Elita considered a moment and inched closer, wordlessly Optimus lifted an arm around her, both their frames settling together with ease. Even with his upgraded frame – bequeathed by the Forge of Solus Prime no less – they still fit together like the edges of a perfect puzzle. A phenomenon mastered over the course of millions of years, simply coming to operate naturally in sync or rather, habit.

“ _Perhaps_ …” she started, mirroring his action and watching the tips of her digits glide over the crimson plating. “It is no secret that there is… _distance_ , and with every passing year I fear it only continues to grow,” Elita paused again, catching movement in her peripherals. Slowly drifting apart in opposite directions, with nothing but a black endless void between them. Cool cerulean peered over to find warm cyan already staring back, waiting to find her gaze just as he had from the very start.

“And I know you feel it too,” she added quietly.

More silence, still just as comfortable as before, strangely. Peaceful. Optimus’ opposite servo lifted to drape over hers, holding it in place above his spark and thumbing over scratched knuckles, every marring having already been committed to memory. The Prime vented shallowly, turning to press a soft kiss to the side of her helm, reveling in the natural sweet aroma her plating radiated like a personal trademark perfume; distinctively hers.

“I love you too much to have lost you,” Optimus murmured against her, running large digits along the side of the slender frame. The words coaxed the femme to pull herself up, coming to lay on a subtle slant so they fully faced each other.

Elita’s expression softened, cerulean hues searching cyan as they had done countless times. Leaning forwards frontal helm crests pressed together and Optimus couldn’t help another sigh. Remarkable how such a simple action could mean so much.

“You have not lost me, Optimus,” the femme whispered, splaying her digits overtop the thrumming spark pulse, matching hers in perfect time.

“I am right here, with you. I always will be–” Digit tips tapped at his center-seam to enunciate her words. “ _You know that…_ ” Elita hushed, easing back to again find his gaze, resting her free servo at the side of the Prime’s fascia. Optimus leaned into the touch, revelling the gentle passes of her thumb over his cheekplate.

“Then why does your touch feel like a memory? Why do I have those recurring dreams?” Optimus murmured, swallowing back the perpetual lump in his vocoder along with exhaustion.

Cool cerulean hues gazed back into cyan, searching them while they searched hers. He had always been the over-thinker of the two, and unfortunately, not every question could be met with an answer. Some things were simply beyond her capability of advising, meant to remain a mystery until the universe could answer in her place.

Elita tilted her helm to the side, coy EM Field permeating the air on dulcet waves, swirling idly with his.

“If my touch were a memory would you be able to feel _this?_ ” Without hesitation tinted lip components found the Prime’s in a slow, soft kiss, simultaneously making the world melt away and yet gone too soon. Elita pulled away, Optimus whined weakly.

“What about this?” she chuckled, pressing a kiss to his cheekplate. “And this? Can you feel this?” the femme snickered, placing kiss after kiss upon his fascia as though mapping a constellation across its surface. Optimus smiled at each and every affection, spark swelling in its casing to a degree it almost caused pain. He had to admit, his Conjunx did make a good point… at least seven by his count.

Inching back Elita left just a breath of space between them, fleeting contact causing the Prime’s spark to ache in a different kind of way than before; melancholy replaced with unbridled adoration.

“As for the recurring dreams… that I cannot help you with, Prime,” she clucked, every word spoken brushing tinted lips against his, sending a chill to roll up Optimus’ spinal column. Primus, he loved when she did that.

A low chuckle rumbled from his vocoder and a wry grin split across once weary fascia. Large arms pre-emptively wrapped around her waist, tugging Elita as close as physically possible as though out of fear that at any moment she should would be ripped away again.

“I suppose there are worse outcomes,” he quipped, melding their mouths in another intoxicating kiss, deeper than before, every exchange growing in fervor.

Fluid like oil Elita’s frame came to lay on top of his, chestplate to chestplate. Large crimson arms loosened their hold to allow servos to take to their habitual wanderings, caressing the curves of her smaller frame, knowing every dip, every contour, and every ridge by memory. Fuchsia hips rolled against his and the Prime reciprocated in kind, heat slowly building between as the first few flickers of arousal crept into idling systems.

Slipping his glossa past her lip components to mingle with hers the delicate kiss exploded into a hot, passionate exchange. The sweet taste she naturally emitted filled his palate with an insatiable craving, driving the Prime to only want more; greedy and yearning. Optimus deepened the kiss and Elita responded in kind, skinny digits holding to the side of his fascia and soft lips components working in tandem to steal the air from his cycles and leave his processors reeling. Battle-worn servos thumbed over her waistline then hips as they steadily rocked into his frame, finally finding her backside thick digits squeezed the curved metal with a low rumble.

Stealing another kiss from her lips Optimus pulled away, continuing the affections along exposed neck cabling with added nips and playful bites for further enticing. Elita dipped her helm to the side, granting him further surface area to exploit, to which the Prime accepted her generosity and sought to reap its rewards in kind. Actions never ceased as positions shifted, the large crimson frame rolling them both over without skipping a beat, gingerly laying a sprawled Elita beneath his frame with a gentility exercised as though she were made of glass.

Bringing his helm from Elita’s neck cabling Optimus paused to simply stare at her, smooth features wearing a subtle rose-tinted flush, and weak, panting ventilations trickling past dewy lip components. Glimmers of silver moonlight and twinkling stars painted themselves across her polished frame, half-hooded optics reflecting the glinting lights within their cool, cerulean hues. Beauty beyond compare. Optimus reached up, stroking her warm cheekplate with his thumb delicately, worshipping every inch of her in the shared, tender silence.

“ _I love you_ ,” he murmured, staring deeply into the optics he adored as she unwaveringly gazed back into his. Drinking in each other’s features as though it were for the first time, or possibly the last.

“ _I love you too_ ,” Elita whispered, the words striking the Prime at his core as though spoken to his very spark. Another kiss, short and soft, leaving them only a breath apart as his thumb continued to brush over the femme’s smooth cheekplate. Hers remained in place, mirroring the action and stroking the side of Optimus’ fascia in slow, adoring passes.

Panels clicked with a muted hiss and the warmth trapped behind each covering billowed between them, unhoused interface arrays grinding together with another roll of Elita’s hips. Optimus bit back a whine, guiding himself inside her with ease. Fuchsia hips rolled again and his followed in tandem, burying the Prime’s length deeper within tight inner walls, slick with lubricant and sweet scented like the rest of her.

“ _How much?_ ” Optimus hushed, finding slender servos and guiding them above the femme’s helm. Skinny digits wove between the familiar grooves of his hold, interlacing them with an assuring squeeze.

“ _More than all the stars in the sky_ …” Elita replied quietly, wrapping lithe legs around the Prime’s waist, pulling him closer and deeper with every thrust of silver hips. Optimus rumbled lowly, feeling inner walls constrict around his spike. The action drew an involuntary groan from silver lip components, tapering into a breathy pant. Thrusts slowed, drawing out each and every sensation to feel her, all of her.

“ _How long?_ ” she vented, optics fluttering closed for just a moment as the first wave of pleasure rippled through her circuitry.

“ _Always_ ,” Optimus answered, finding her mouth with his in a series of slow kisses, making love to her for as long as aged systems would permit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> After so much sadness last chapter I had to give him a little bit of happiness... and... some good ol' lovin, huehue ;)
> 
> Follow, kudos, comment, and stay tuned...


	3. Chasing Ghosts

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey all you cool cats and kittens! Sorry for the overdue update, things got kind of crazy at work (even while working remotely) and left me with too little energy to tap into the creative mindset. Good news is, I'm getting the mojo back and have a very long chapter for you as compensation. Anyways, this chapter I was looking most forward to writing-wise so I hope you enjoy.
> 
> CHAPTER TRACK: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=v72v6l7DmHI
> 
> Remember to follow, fave, and comment below! I love reading what you all have to say and where you think this is going, so please let me know! A lot of my writing is fuelled by feedback, so keep it up! :3

The weightlessness of recharge had gradually begun to ebb, returning the Prime to feel the heaviness of his weary frame more prominently than he’d prefer. Slugging through chronic exhaustion a guttural groan rumbled from the bowels of his chassis, reverberating against crimson plates for several seconds. Every morning felt more difficult than the last and were it not for his obligation to continue assisting Bumblebee and his team, Optimus would never leave his berth. Content with the cradling comfort it brought to sore joints.

Grumbling into his cushion a mighty arm blindly reached over to Elita’s side of the berth to drape over her still slumbering frame but was met only with air. Optimus paused, angling his helm up to look over at the vacancy beside him, then to his servo resting over the cool, untouched surface she had at one time resided a long time ago. For a moment dimmed cyan hues simply stared, feeling the broken pang in the depths of his spark fill his entire being. Thick digits curled, clutching the cool covering as optics shuttered closed, vents expelling a long, pained cycle of air.

 _He was alone_. Every morning was the same, with him reaching over in hopes to find the slender frame resting alongside his, but only ever grasping at empty air. The evening previous just another vivid dream, or perhaps it was a memory? The lines had blurred so much over the years he couldn’t dissuade fiction from reality anymore, the only constant coming in the form of his tormented spark pulsing brokenly in its chamber.

Optimus heaved, unfurling the coverings from himself to notice the mess of dried transfluid coating abdominal plates, array covering, sheets, and coagulated in the grooves of his dominant servo. Silver lip plates pressed in a thin line while a dull, apathetic look crossed his features. There was no shock, or remorse, or embarrassment anymore, only a numbness and bitter disappointment. Each time felt so real, and each time he believed it was.

“ _Frag_ ,” he finally grunted, following the same procedure as he had done many times before, reaching into his subspace for a rag to clean himself with. Sitting up, the Prime’s optics wandered back to the porthole, staring past the thick glass to the newest solar system they’d travelled too, its beauty lost to him completely. All Optimus could see was Elita, fuchsia form glowing in silver moonbeams and cerulean optics holding an entire cluster of stars in their cool alluring gaze.

Spark pulses plodded heavily along to a rhythm he hardly recognized. Where once they’d followed a beautiful melody now only a pathetic warble, out of sync and lost. His clean servo came up to clutch at the warm plating, as always, finding no comfort or reprieve in the meaningless touch.

********

From behind, delicate servos connected to lithe arms wrapped around his frame, pulling the crimson mass against her chassis to siphon the lingering post-recharge warmth. Optimus reached up to cover her servo with his, leaning back against the naturally cooler frame with a tired sigh.

“Five more minutes?” he rumbled hopefully, audials flicking at the tiny snicker bubbling up from behind him.

“You already had your five minutes…” Elita chided, resting her helm at the side of his, chinplate propped atop a crimson shoulder pauldron.

“Yes, but that was five minutes ago. Now, I am asking for another five minutes,” Optimus countered, idly thumbing over the top of her servo in lazy strokes.

“And that would mark ten minutes in total, not five as we previously agreed,” the femme quipped, nudging his helm playfully, “Primus, where did you learn basic arithmetic?”

Optimus snorted, “Apparently, somewhere woefully incompetent by your measure.” Turning in the loose embrace he found glowing cerulean hues peeking back over. Wordlessly, silver mouthplates captured soft tinted components in a tender kiss, his taste from last night still found on her lips. Going for more Elita immediately pulled away before the mech could lengthen the exchange, delivering a playful smack to his chassis.

“Okay – get up, Prime,” the femme vented, unfurling her limbs from around him. Coy pulses radiated from her EM Field, coiling around his lazy but contented waves. Cerulean hues glinted and a trademark smirk flashed over her features.

*******

_“That’s an order_ …”

Optimus blinked vacantly as he relived the last of the sweet memory, her smooth alto voice echoing through his audials before being consumed by deafening silence. A quiet sigh tumbled past parted lip plates and with a groan the Prime forced himself to stand, tossing the sullied rag onto the floor to be dealt with later. Military protocol overtook systems and in a few short seconds Optimus had made the berth with expert precision, hesitating when he came to what had been Elita’s designated side; cold and untouched.

Spark pulses panged deep in its chamber as he reached forwards, reverently trailing the tips of thick digits over the empty side of the berth. Optics shuddered.

*******

Tucking the blankets as quickly as possible both raced to complete their side of the berth before the other, finishing the task within nanoseconds of each other as servos flew up in show.

“Beat you, _again_ ,” Elita grinned.

“ _Did not_. My servos were up before yours, Lita… Or were you too busy looking down at your folded sheet to notice?” he taunted, throwing his Conjunx a wicked grin of his own.

“ _Ooooooh_ , good one,” Elita vented in wry amusement, meeting the grin with a smirk.

Optimus beamed, “ _Thank you_.” Without warning he cut ahead of the fuchsia femme to the door as if it were another race. Elita’s naturally competitive personality took over and she gave chase, RUSHING over but just a second behind the Prime, much to his delight.

“ _Beat you_ , _again_ ~” Optimus crooned smugly, using her words against her while boundless pride radiated in his EM Field and clogged the airways. The femme rolled her optics.

Elita snorted, “Yes, yes, _very_ impressive…” Small servos fell to their habitual resting place on fuchsia hip joints.

“I am, aren’t I?” Optimus quipped, earning an almost exasperated sigh from the femme. His smile broadened. Reaching for the keypad his servo hovered above with every intention of punching the needed button but hesitated. Optimus turned back to stare at her, mirthful pulses blooming in his EM Field.

*******

A servo hovered over the keypad, digits curling in the air. Outside the door he could faintly hear the other bots taking to the halls, chatting and laughing. Recoiling from the cold metal box he turned to stare at the painfully still hab-suite. Dimmed cyan hues fell to the vacancy beside him half expecting to see Elita standing there, instead, a long cycle of air whistled from old vents. _Nothing._

*******

“Are you planning on opening the door at all?” she drawled, helm cocking on an angle.

“ _In a moment_ ,” Optimus said, curling a servo beneath her chinplate to coax her helm in his direction, guiding the femme up to meet him halfway in another soft kiss.

*******

“ _You know as well as I you cannot hide in here forever_ …”

Optimus blinked, peering over his shoulder pauldron to find Elita perched at the end of the berth, cool cerulean hues staring into cyan with a piercing gaze. Spark pulses skipped in its casing, just as it did every time he saw her; breathlessly in awe.

“I know. But I…” he stopped himself.

“You _… what?_ ”

The Prime shook his helm, dimmed optics going over her form slowly, yearningly. Reading the wants laced in both expression and EM Field, Elita approached from the berth, coming to stand in front of the much taller mech. Smooth fascia wore a gentle expression as a slender servo cupped the side of his helm, running a thumb over aged cheekplating. Optimus regarded her softly, leaning into the cool touch per instinct.

“I wish we had more time…” he whispered, covering the smaller servo with his and pressed a kiss to its palm. “I want to see you – _just a little while longer_ …” Optimus murmured. Mirroring the femme he lifted a servo to cradle the side of her helm, thumbing at smooth cheekplates so carefully one could argue he hardly made contact at all.

Large cerulean hues dimmed, expression falling to wear the very same sadness harboured in the depths of her spark. For a moment neither said anything, pained silence shared between them in mutual understanding, EM Fields curled around each other so tightly it was impossible to tell where Prime ended and Elita began.

“You do not need to see me to know I am with you, Optimus,” she finally replied, voice a barely audible whisper, “I always have been, and always will be.”

“But you exist only in my mind and memories…”

“And your spark?”

Silver lip plates gave a small smile, “There most of all.”

More silence. Optimus allowed a final pass of his thumb before pulling away.

“I will find you, Lita. I promise, so long as my spark functions I will never stop looking for you,” he assured, those very same words he’d promised eons ago. A larger servo hovered above the keypad with a final glance back.

“ _I know_ ,” she murmured, “ _Nor will I_ …”

With that, a thick digit tapped at the keypad and he watched the door open with a pneumatic hiss, sliding into its wall casing in a quick blur.

_Find me . . ._

Optimus vented, peering to the side where Elita had been and again found nothing but empty air; a figment of the past long since lived. He crossed the threshold into the hall, stalking down the long corridor in troubled silence.

Time continued to rule him with a cruel, cold hand. Every vision of her a phantom face and fleeting touch he could still feel so clearly, every sight he saw simply a recollection of a memory that had once been so sweet, now bitter and anguished. There had been a time when he yearned for her apparitions, searching the depths of his spark and pleading with whomever would listen amongst the stars to have her materialize in his arms. Now, it only brought pain. Seeing her, hearing her, feeling her ghostly touch on his plating and the taste of her lips, all of it an agony that went on and on relentlessly.

Audials flicked at the distant laughs and excitable chatter echoing from a few paces ahead, picking out each and every voice yet unrecognized them all the same. Optics vacantly looked over to the side, passing by the small cluster too lost in their anecdotes to notice his short presence. Grimlock and Sideswipe had taken to regaling Windblade, Drift, Strongarm, and Fixit with a harrowing tale from one of their previous missions, limbs swinging wildly around and voices reaching an audial-piercing volume with every punchline and reaction. The Prime blinked, watching as in a split-second their frames melted away into new beings entirely.

Jazz and Prowl now took to the centre of the group, Jazz’s animated antics balancing out Prowl’s more deadpan deliveries that sent their group of close friends howling. Cyan hues flickered over to catch Ironhide with his arm around Chromia, both listening intently and offering the occasional smart remark. Firestar, Tracks, and Ratchet all chuckled on the opposite side, commenting amongst themselves while cradling small cubes of that morning’s Energon portion. Canvassing over the faceplates of his friends Optimus came to see himself listening in amusement with Elita at his side. Optics would glint as she confided in him quick quips behind a raised servo for only his audials to hear, eliciting deep rumbling chuckles from the Prime and the occasional nudge to her plating. Their laughter echoed through his helm while the ghosts of his past dissipated into thin air, vanished without a trace.

Spark pulses slowed, hanging onto the moment briefly suspended in time until optics blinked again, returning him to the lonely present; a stranger who had far outlived his time. Vents gave a quiet drawn out sigh, pushing past the troubling thoughts weighed on his processor and harboured in his spark as best he could, finding his habitual place at a data console; the only place he felt familiarity in.

Long ago he hadn’t been much different than Bumblebee and his team, a circle of close comrades able to put pause to whatever troubles were outside the walls, laughing and sharing stories with youthful abandon. Now, his lifelong friends were either dead or lost somewhere amongst the stars, and even still there was no guarantee they had lived after the exodus either. For all he knew his friends had all since passed, leaving him behind as lonely survivor. All them simply faceplates he hadn’t seen in eons, and voices that could only be heard in his memories. Ratchet came as the only exception, the one beacon at the end of the godforsaken tunnel plagued with never-ending melancholy. Yet, even with one of his oldest friends returned to his side, it wasn’t the same, it would never be the same. The grief would never pass, nor would the guilt.

Standing at the console digits tapped against the keys in broad strokes, calling up the archived list of exiled Autobots they currently searched the edges of the galaxy for. Every day played out the same, searching last known coordinates, pinging any signal they could, and responding to any alerts that made itself known on the airways. Each time they arrived the signal disappeared, no trace of the Autobot in question to be found; always too late.

Optimus only ever searched for one exiled Autobot, the relentless pursuit for her never ceasing since finding Elita’s designation on the roster. No one asked, in fact, he was certain none of them knew his obsession save for Bumblebee and Ratchet, silently permitting the Prime to throw himself into the hunt for as long as he could bear it. At least, so he assumed. It had come to be an unspoken agreement of sorts, the wounds still far too fresh to speak to out loud, and the bravery required to head the subject crumbled at the very thought.

Another raucous bout of laughter pulled the Prime momentarily from the screen, glancing over the group of younger bots with a fleeting wistfulness breaking free for the blink of an optic.

“ _You could always join them, you know_ …”

Optimus shook his helm, “My presence would only serve as a disruption.” Tired cyan hues flicked to the side, catching Elita propped against the wall, trademark smirk curved over tinted lip components.

“Would it? Or have you simply convinced yourself of such?” she countered, optics holding a steely gaze, “I must say you really have become a recluse in your older age…”

“The generational divide has grown too great, Lita. I feel even more as an out of place relic than when I was on Earth the first time…” he sighed, returning to tapping into the console. “Besides, I prefer your company much more. At least our conversations are more…” smooth baritone trailed off, trying to find the word.

“ _Stimulating?_ ” Elita offered.

“Yes, _that_ ,” Optimus replied with an amused snort.

Elita gave a short, amused vent, listening to the distant conversation with a dulling expression, “I can see what you mean…” Younger generation indeed. Their comments and stories came far too crudely for her tastes, not to mention, overexaggerated beyond anything she would deem well within the bounds of reality. It came with youth she supposed, those days long since gone for the both of them.

Optimus straightened, peering over to her with a knowing look. See? Not reclusive, just simply not interested. Besides, he had other things that took precedence. Locating _her_ the top priority. A quiet chuckle rolled from the alto vocoder, filling his audials like the sweetest melody he’d ever heard, wishing it would last longer than it did.

“ _Did you recharge well last night?_ ”

The Prime pursed silver lip components, staring vacantly at the console screen as he considered. Well enough, he supposed, after the nightmare ended… Peeking back in her direction he found Ratchet standing in Elita’s place, arms folded over his white chassis and helm cocked on a questioning angle.

“Did you hear me?” the CMO prompted, confused.

Optimus blinked, equally confused. “Yes- apologies, old friend,” he vented, giving a slight shake of his helm, frustration ebbing in his EM Field. “My processors are admittedly still groggy… it would seem…”

Ratchet tutted, “Mm, well, that answers that question then…” Pausing only to allow a long sigh to break free of his vocoder the Medic shook his helm. “So, I take it not a restful night?”

The crimson mech continued to tap away at the keypad, “No.” There was no way in the Pit he would ever share the events that took place previous. Ever since the first time it had been kept secret from everyone, Ratchet included. Optimus simply couldn’t bring himself to explain the bizarre occurrences knowing how mad it would make him sound, teetering on the edge of insanity, even. Seeing apparitions was one thing, having their interactions come to be so physically real and frequent was another matter entirely.

“ _Optimus_ …” Ratchet sighed, “You know if there is something troubling you I can–”

“It is just aggravated war injuries. The aches keep me awake at night at times, that is all,” Optimus deflected. The answer however wasn’t a complete lie. Sore joints didn’t aid in a restful night’s sleep, but they’d devolved to a dull chronic pain over time. What currently plagued him came as a different pain altogether…

Ratchet conceded. “I can see if there are any pain alleviators I can offer you to help with the restlessness… would that suffice?”

“Please,” Optimus murmured, glancing over to the Medic with the same weary look he habitually did, Ratchet noted. “I would greatly appreciate it.”

Standing in place the Medic simply watched as Optimus returned to his work, completely disregarding his presence, consumed with the task he had charged himself in completing. A beat. There was more he wanted to say, something that had gone unsaid for far too long. Palpable conflict riddled itself in the CMO’s EM Field, the words hanging on the tip of his glossa and yet when he went to voice them all that came was silence.

Looking over his friend Ratchet felt his mouthplates press in a thin line, optical ridges furrowing into a pained expression. Over the years spent on Earth he had watched Optimus’ devolution slowly spiral. Somber, sad, and silent. Withdrawn from most conversations that had occurred within the base, focused only on the next mission and next task at besting Megatron, a necessity derived from the pain of all that had been lost. The weight of the world forever burdened on his shoulder pauldrons. As distressing it had been to watch Optimus pass to the Well Ratchet held hope that the Prime would finally find peace after so much sacrifice. Now, here they were again, history repeating itself for what felt to be an endless cycle. Without thinking the words sprung from his vocoder.

“Perhaps, it is time you took a break in your search efforts…”

Audials flicked but Optimus barely registered the words, grunting in acknowledgement and possible agreement. Clearly, not having heard the question. Ratchet caught movement in his peripherals, turning slightly to see Bumblebee starting to approach, questioned concern etched on his fascia. The CMO shifted on his pedes, peering back to the Prime who had yet to move.

Ratchet sighed, “ _Optimus_ …”

“ _Yes?_ ” he replied curtly, earning another exasperated sigh.

“We’ve been patient, and we’ve let this go on far too long as it is. And, I’m sorry, Optimus, but I will not stand by and watch as you lose yourself like this, not again,” Ratchet replied, shaking his helm. “You’re not well–”

“ _I am fine,_ Ratchet,” Optimus muttered, “One restless night is not probable consequence to warrant an overreaction.”

“ _Overreaction?_ Is that what you–” A beat. The CMO reached up to pinch the bridge between his optics while a deflating ventilation whistled from his frame.

Bumblebee frowned. “We’re worried about you,” he cut in gently, causing both pairs of optics to glance in his direction. As much as they both grappled with the fact he was no longer a Scout, he was also no longer a child. Bumblebee led his own team, had grown into an adult mech, and with such growth came seeds of wisdom, and ability to note subtle nuances and shifts otherwise looked over by those untrained to see it.

It was no secret amongst them that Optimus had begun to behave strangely, at least, stranger than usual. Where once he’d sit silently with the rest of the team, now, he hid away at the console or in his quarters. Refuels were far and few between, listless processors forcibly withdrew the Prime from everyone in the proximity, and most surprising of all, quicker to agitate. While he never acted on it or raised his voice, the uncharacteristic trait had laced within his EM Field and burned behind a weary gaze. Optimus was not the same mech they once knew, something had changed, and as time went on it became blatantly obvious what the trigger had been.

Giving a small sigh of his own the yellow mech continued, choosing his words very, very carefully.

“You barely refuel, you hardly speak anymore, all you ever do is type into the console for hours on end… Maybe… it would be best if you… _took a break_ , just for a little while? Reset your processors, refocus…” he trailed off. Despite coming to lead his own team he could never shake how unnerving it felt to lecture his oldest mentor, he’d even be bold enough to say father-figure. But, now was not the time to dwell on such matters.

Now, Optimus turned from the console, tired sigh rolling from an even more tired vocoder. Cyan hues went between both gazes respectively, helm giving a small shake. They just didn’t understand. Each day the puzzled pieces fell more in-line with the picture, clues to the mystery unravelling ahead of them near solving.

“I am getting closer, I know it,” Optimus rumbled, determined, “ _I can feel it._ ”

“But… you say that every day…” Bumblebee murmured, large optics refocusing with muted clicks. “We all care about Elita, but, we’re not any closer to her than when Ratchet first uncovered the roster. And there’s other Autobots that pop up on our monitors that need our attention too.”

Optimus shifted to cover the bristling of crimson plating, “Every time we arrive at a signal the source is nowhere to be seen. How are we to say they take precedence when they cease to exist as well?” he paused, ridges furrowing, “What if it were Jazz? Or Prowl? Or Moonracer? Would you have me forsake them as well?”

“Okay, no one said forsaking, but… there’s others who need our help more. That’s who we should focus on,” Bumblebee urged quietly, feeling the optics of his team coming to bore into the back of his helm. “… _That’s the protocol_.”

Silence. The Prime’s naturally closed off EM Field prickled in acute irritation, denta gritted behind a hardened jawline. _What protocol?_ The Autobots were scattered among the stars by order of the Nova Council; a rebranding of the High Council that governed the Golden Age. Cybertron had disowned them as Ratchet had come to divulge and experience of his own accord. Protocol had only ever made their lives more difficult than warranted, why should they continue to follow its rigid structure when protocol had since abandoned them?

“You do not understand. You are too young to understand, Bumblebee…” Optimus finally murmured, resolve fleeting, “I have to do this. I _need_ to.”

Ratchet vented quietly, “Optimus, you cannot blame yourself for–”

“ _I do_ , and I always will,” the Prime cut in more forcefully. “Were it not for me she would not have been deserted in the first place, and I…” low baritone trailed off, unable to bring himself to speak further on it.

Optimus had been the one to leave her behind on Cybertron with the promise to find her again, and he had every intention of keeping that promise, even after all this time. Elita had sacrificed her safety to protect the perilous world that had since turned its back on them, on _her_. Expelled to the depths of space with not so much as a thank you. How could he live with himself if he allowed the breadth of such an injustice to continue?

A beat. Cyan hues flicked up past the Medic, catching the familiar fuchsia form staring out the window, and as if feeling his gaze on her, Elita looked back to him. _Find me_ … her voice whispered in his audial despite her mouthplates not moving. Optics blinked and her form dissipated into ash on a gentle wind, blowing out past the window into the endless abyss of space. Gone, or perhaps, leading the way to where she waited beyond.

Optimus met the CMO’s gaze, subdued and sober. _I have to find her_ … Mouthplates parting to speak those very thoughts, but another claimed the silence before they could be voiced.

“ _Sooooooo_ , who’re we talking about?” Sideswipe chirped, then groaned at a swift elbow joint from Strongarm to his midsection. “ _What_?!” he exclaimed.

“ _Quiet_ ,” Windblade hushed, immediately shifting her gaze to a spot on the wall with a sudden vested interest.

It was hard not to eavesdrop when they stood so close by, but that didn’t mean they had the right to be flies on a wall to what she assumed was a very personal conversation. The rest of Bee’s Team all awkwardly glanced around, trying to pass off the fact they hadn’t taken to listening in, and doing a poor job of it at that.

“Nothing– _no one,_ it doesn’t matter,” Bumblebee answered, mildly flustered. “Just, everyone… go back to their stations, okay?”

Thick digits danced over the keypad and Ratchet took a step forward, standing directly beside the Prime with a burning gaze.

“Enough of this,” he huffed under his breath, “Optimus, we must use our resources for Autobot signals we currently have locks on, surely you can understand?”

Sideswipe squinted. “Mmmm kay, doesn’t answer my question though. How come you all get to be part of some inside group and we don’t?” he countered, the two conversations occurring simultaneously.

“I understand, and I need not be lectured like a youngling, Ratchet,” Optimus bit back, clacking away at the keys feverishly. “I am not asking you support my decision, only that you respect it. This is something I must do, surely _you_ can understand?”

Bumblebee’s helm dipped back and vents sighed, “It’s not an inside group, Sideswipe.”

“Sounds like it is…”

“It’s only because we’re talking about something that happened a long time ago. You guys… you weren’t there, okay?”

Grimlock straightened, “So, it _is_ an inside group?”

“No, Grim,” Bumblebee groaned, “Look, you guys are missing the point.”

Ratchet bristled, “Respect a decision that will devolve you into some mindless drone? No. I thought when you passed that would put an end to it, but I’m tired of watching you run yourself into the ground time and time again. And for what? Chasing after some sort of dream?”

“Elita is out there – _somewhere_ – Ratchet. The roster would not have included her name if she were anything else but alive, just as all the others on it,” Optimus rumbled, “What will you have me do? Abandon her again?”

“If you want to have an inside group with your war buddies that’s fine, you can just say so,” Sideswipe replied, throwing his arms to the side, “But just because we’re not cool veterans doesn’t mean we can be excluded.”

“No one is being excluded,” Bumblebee vented, rubbing at his faceplates.

“Maybe we should all just calm down…” Drift cut in slowly, voice lost to the rising chaos.

“Yeah, let’s all just f-fill – _I mean grill_ – _I mean CHILL_ –!” Fixit chirped, though his suggestion also went unnoticed.

Ratchet vented in mild exasperation, “How many times must we go over this? You did not abandon her, Optimus. Elita _chose_ of her own volition to stay behind–” Pointing a digit at the Prime he continued, “But, you know as well as I she wouldn’t want you to place her above others that need our help. _That_ would be an abandonment to her and all that she stood for.”

Cyan optics burned back into the CMO’s azure hues in a steely gaze, an obvious nerve had been struck, but neither relented. Tensions rose.

Sideswipe waved his servo at his side, “I mean, what’s so special about this _Elita_ , you guys are talking about anyways? I’ve never heard of them–”

“You’ve never heard of Elita-1?” Strongarm gaped, “What, were you sparked under a rock?”

“ _Was not_ ,” Sideswipe sneered.

Windblade’s optical ridge quirked, “Seriously? I’m not even _from_ Cybetron and I know who she is…”

“ _See!_ Thank you!” Strongarm motioned to Windblade, who nodded. The Enforcer continued, “Elita is a famous war hero. Would it kill you to pick up a data pad once in a while?”

“ _Maybe it would_ ,” Sideswipe snarked.

“Guys…” Bumblebee vented flatly, peeking over a shoulder pauldron at Optimus and Ratchet, the bickering words lost to him while his own team squabbled; leaving him trapped in the middle, per usual.

Optimus grimaced, “ _No_. Too many times have our needs been sacrificed for the needs of the many. When I gave my life to the Well, I had every intention of accepting the possibility of her being gone, but I was brought back for a _reason_ , Ratchet,” the crimson mech shook his helm, glancing back to the window.

“Optimus…” Ratchet sighed, but the Prime continued, too lost to his wandering processors to notice anything else.

“All my life my purpose has been determined by other mecha. First the duty of Prime for Cybertron, then of Primus to bring an end to our war. Even in the realm of my predecessors, my purpose was to carry out their trials and demands,” he paused, gaze shifting to the CMO, much calmer than before, “But now, for the first time, _I have been granted autonomy_.”

“ _Optimus_.”

“For the first time I have the ability to make a decision without Cybertron, the Autobots, or an ancient Prime’s dictation. And I have decided after all this time, after all I have sacrificed, I have earned the right to be selfish _just this once_ –”

Sideswipe shrugged. “Okay, well, _sorry_ I don’t know who any of these old bots are! They’re all, _like_ , ancient!”

“They’re iconic! They’re legends!” Strongarm countered, exasperated.

“And they’re the reason Cybertron is alive,” Windblade added.

Sideswipe rolled his optics. “Uhm, _Team Prime_ is the reason Cybertron is alive. They’re the ones who re-ignited the core, even I know that,” the mech snorted, eyeing Bumblebee, “Right, Bee?”

Bumblebee dulled, “Sure.”

“ _Optimus,_ if you would just listen for a second–” Ratchet practically pleaded, patience wearing thin. Optimus typed furiously into the keypad, Ratchet’s words falling on deaf audials.

“Had it not been for duty Elita would still be with us. Had we been permitted to make a selfish decision that once after the entirety of the war she would not be waiting among the stars–”

“ _Please, if you would just_ –”

“The ways of the past ended when I returned. On that day I promised myself I would not allow my life to be dictated by the wants and whims of others, when all it has ever done is cause pain. I choose–”

“YOU HAVE NO CHOICE!” Ratchet cut in abruptly, “ _NONE OF US HAVE A CHOICE_ –” his voice reverberated off the concave walls in a ringing echo. No one moved. Complete silence. A beat. The CMO pointed a digit at the Prime, azure hues burning up into widened cyan.

“You think none of us would love nothing more than to have the opportunity to throw duty aside and live frivolously?” he growled, “I could think of nothing else that would bring me such joy if I could abandon this endeavour and make a selfish choice of my own _for once_ ,” Ratchet bit back, white and orange plates flaring. “Retire! Live peacefully somewhere beautiful! Enjoy what left of my life there is before I become one with the All-Spark! But I can’t. _None of us can_ ,” his voice lowered to a dangerous tone, “You pontificate of all the pain and tragedy that has befell you, you forget I was there alongside you in the suffering all that time. All of us were! For Primus sake, Bumblebee has only _ever_ known a life of warfare. At least you and I were able to revel in a time of peace…” the Medic trailed off, giving a vague wave of his servo.

All optics shot over to Bumblebee in a myriad of expressions, the former Scout slunk in place, uncomfortable with the sudden attention.

“Hey, us too!” Sideswipe interjected, nudging Strongarm who hid her fascia behind a servo, blanched and horrified. Every gaze now shot to the pair, Optimus and Ratchet practically stripping the young bot down to his internal wiring in a silent, hardened glower. His input had not been welcomed. The red mech cleared his vocoder awkwardly, feeling an embarrassed flush tinge sleek cheekplates.

“ _I mean, Bee’s not that much… older… so_ …” Sideswipe mumbled, vibrato diminishing in a blink of an optic. From behind her servo Strongarm shot him a look that said it all: _shut up_. Glancing down he silently inspected his pedes. _Forget he said anything_ …

Regaining whatever was left of his composure the Medic sighed defeatedly, giving a broken shake of his helm.

“We cannot afford to be selfish, Optimus, despite how desperately I wish we could be. The battle for peace has not stopped with the end of the war… There are so many of us out there waiting helplessly for someone to find them. Waiting for _us_ to find them… Waiting for their _leader_ to find them.” More silence. Ratchet and Optimus’ gazes met in an uneasy mix of trepidation and guilt. Death, return, and Elita aside, Optimus remained leader of the Autobots while he continued to live, bound to the oath he swore those millions of years ago.

Ratchet vented, “We do not get to cast them aside in favour of our personal pursuits. Freedom is the right of _all_ sentient beings, isn’t that what you told us?”

Optimus frowned at the words and looked away, staring at the window’s thick glass then the stars stretched beyond it. All sentient beings included Elita, just as it included all the other Autobots on the roster. What harm came with him seeking her out while Ratchet, Bee, and the others cast a wider net? They were still fulfilling their duty were they not? Silver lip plates pressed together in subtle show of his stubbornness having no intention of relenting.

Bee’s team anxiously glanced amongst each other in the awkward silence, waiting for it to be broken one way or another. Whatever this was or had been sparked by was beyond their comprehension, an open wound that had been left to fester for Primus knew how long.

Ratchet expelled another long ventilation, reaching up to pinch the bridge between his optics.

“I hoped it would not have to come to this, but I know how stubborn you are. You will refuse to understand any other way… I have no other choice,” he murmured, turning to Bumblebee solemnly. “Set a course for Cybertron’s first moon.”

“Why?” Bumblebee brought himself to ask, confusion laced in every syllable. “We just got to this system, why are we going back to Cybertron of all places?” Ratchet out of anyone ought to have known it was too dangerous a territory to be flying through, he had been exiled from the planet by mandate of the Nova Council…

All optics remained fixed on Ratchet and Prime. The CMO’s weary gaze looked to Optimus, voice a barely audible whisper.

“ _There’s something you need to see._ ”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Do you ever have such a vivid dream or disassociation that it blurs the lines between fiction and reality? Have you ever seen a ghost or something you couldn't explain but KNEW was real? Wouldn't want to be in Optimus' shoes right now, that's for sure... oof!
> 
> Follow, kudos, comment, and stay tuned...


	4. Revelations

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello lovelies! I'm back with another chapter update that has admittedly been waiting in the wings for a week longer than planned. Wanted to make good headway on the next chapter before posting this one. I'm hoping the next chapter will be up in the near future, just in the tweaking stage. With everyone (still mostly) stuck at home in quarantine, myself included, been trying to create more content and write as much as possible to pass the time.
> 
> CHAPTER TRACK: https://youtu.be/qxrV2pqroDY?t=1
> 
> Remember to follow, fave, and comment below! I always look forward to reading what you all have to say and love to know where you think this is going! A lot of my writing is fuelled by feedback, so keep it up! :3 xoxo

For too long Ratchet had let Optimus toil under the delusion that he no longer held any authority in the Autobot cause and care, to a point he had long since convinced himself was real. At first, Ratchet had hoped the Optimus he once knew would return and that the mindset would only be temporary; considered mostly as a by-product of death then being thrust once again in the mortal world. But as days turned to weeks, then to months, the hope had formed into a dangerous, destructive obsession in futility.

The CMO couldn’t take it anymore, he couldn’t watch his oldest and dearest friend continue, and at what cost? To stave off the inevitable for only a short while more? If not by his doing then another’s Optimus would only fall victim to fate sooner or later, besides, the ache residing in the depths of his spark had grown unbearable. Every moment he saw Optimus at the console came as a heated blade to the spark, and every hopeful gaze out the window of a future without duty the twisting of the knife.

Standing in the loading bay in uncomfortable silence Optimus shrugged on the tattered cloak, surprised it even fit his tall height and large frame to begin with. Ratchet pivoted, optics lifting from a spec on the ground to the Prime.

“I’ll bridge you as close as I can to the entrance. It’s nightfall so I don’t assume anyone to be wandering around,” the Medic murmured, solemnly. “There’s no guards either since they’ve sealed the entrance to the public. You shouldn’t have any problems…”

Optimus nodded, securing the cloak with a click of the clasp. “What is the purpose of all this, Ratchet?”

“The cloak is to hide your identity should you come across anyone. Primus knows what the Council would do if they heard you had returned, let alone saw you on Cybertron.” Biting the inner mesh lining his cheek Ratchet considered the latter part of his answer. Azure hues shifted, falling back to the spec on the floor, voice lowering.

“Do you remember when Megatron desecrated the tombs in order to wield the Star Sabre?”

A pause. The question was really how could Optimus forget such a blasphemous action? The Tomb of the Primes were sacred grounds, the final resting place of his ancestors shrouded in respect. Megatron’s actions had gone far beyond his other transgressions, at least, when it concerned the Primacy. Optimus could still feel the phantom ire burning from within the Matrix, its presence lingering deep within his spark despite having been relinquished to Primus what felt to be a lifetime ago.

Optimus rumbled, “Yes.”

“That day you told me the tombs were sacred grounds, meant for self-reflection amongst the Primes. Many would go to seek counsel or guidance from their ancestors there, or simply found comfort in being surrounded by its mysticism.” One of the few places only a Prime could enter and have access too, making it all the more tantalizing to those who wished to know their secrets, Megatron chief amongst them.

Optimus nodded with a low rumble. Ratchet continued, optics wandering back up to stoic cyan hues who stared back.

“I think perhaps some reflection may do you some good…” he trailed off, walking over to the bridging lever, “Put things back into perspective.”

“ _Ratchet_ …”

“Ah-bup–” the Medic tutted, servo curling around the lever, “As an old friend, this is all I ask.” Without another word he pulled down, activating the bridge with a vibrant swirling mass of aquamarine, turquoise, jade, and violet. The pinwheel of colours brought a cool wind rushing forwards, billowing in the Prime’s fraying cloak.

Cyan hues shifted to find the Medic’s azure optics already staring back, noting an indiscernible sobriety hidden in the depths of the dimmed gaze. Ratchet nodded his helm in prompt for Optimus to walk through, and the Prime acknowledged then reciprocated, stepping towards the vortex and through to the blinding white tunnel. Squinting against its brilliance he continued forwards, tugging the cloak tighter to his frame as the dark exit came to view.

Crossing the threshold infinite white replaced with infinite darkness. Optics readjusted with shutters and clicks, assisted with a few blinks until Cybertron, new and old, came into focus. Audials flicked as the bridge closed behind him with a whoosh, leaving the Prime in total silence and solitude. A cool wind, different than that of the bridge, whistled through his frame, folds of the tattered fabric cloak flapping behind him in its wake. Optimus pulled the hood over his helm, finnials retracting back to accommodate until the hood set in the proper place, leaving him to feel vaguely like Alpha Trion, he mused.

Finding the gigantic mausoleum immediately ahead Optimus started forwards, walking over the metallic surface with no debris in sight. The tranquility and peace emanating from the atmosphere nearly forced him to pause, surroundings unrecognizable as the Cybertron he had come to know over millions of years of war, instead stepping back in time to the Golden Age. Buildings stood tall, silhouetted by starlight and silver moonbeams, walkways clear of crumbled concrete, and not a plume of smoke for miles around or ashes falling from the sky. Only a few years had passed since he had crossed to the Well and inadvertently to the realm of the Primes, and already the skyline of Iacon looked so different from the last time he’d bore witness. It felt surreal to be in Iacon, to be in his home, yet felt like a stranger. No welcomed greeting. No dwelling to return to. A wanderer simply passing through.

 _Their home_ , Optimus reminded himself. This had been their home long before the war, back when he was only Orion Pax and she had a different name entirely. _Ariel_. It rolled through his processors like a gentle ocean wave. An absent-minded smile curved over his components. After all this time he could still see her clear as day, pink helm cables pulled back in a dangling ponytail, bright doe-like cerulean optics, petite pale rose frame as fragile and beautiful as the flower… he shook his helm, dispelling the reverie before the memories wandered too dangerously off course. He walked Cybertron’s surface for a specific reason, he owed it to Ratchet to focus on the trip’s purpose.

Pedes continued forwards at the casual pace, cloak trailing behind him on the gentle evening breeze. Optical ridges furrowed as he glanced on either side, then up to the two moons suspended in an endless sea of stars. Was it evening or early morning? Dead of night? Dull clanks of his pedefalls reverberating off towering walls pulled the Prime from his thoughts. Peering out from behind the edges of the hood he caught his reflection in the polished black metal slabs, etchings lining their surface row upon row, column by column.

Curiosity captured his attentions and drove Optimus closer for inspection, reading the listed names he’d never heard before. Cyan darted to the side, taking in the walls as they stretched hundreds of yards from here to the Tombs, each etched with thousands upon thousands of names. Ridges crinkled and he took a step forwards, the bottom of his pede meeting with a different texture and dull THUD. The Prime stepped back inquisitively, bringing to full few the placard in-laid with the ground, polished bronze with a mural of Cybertron engraved behind raised words.

THE WALK OF REFLECTION WAR MEMORIAL

IN HONOUR OF OUR FALLEN. MAY THEIR SACRIFICES FOR PEACE AND PROSPERITY NEVER BE FORGOTTEN. CYBERTRON WILL REMEMBER.

Optimus drew a shallow vent, peering back up with a sombre gaze as the memorial slabs guided his path to the tomb’s front steps. The solemn reminder of the lives lost, Autobot, Decepticon, and civilian hit him in full, claiming a wavering sigh from aged vents. Suddenly, the weight of gravity pressed down upon him heavier than before, grim and bitter.

In the fog of war it was so easy to forget that every fallen frame on the battlefield, Autobot or not, was a life. Over the course of millions of years so many had been lost on both sides, and many more who were helpless caught in the middle of the conflict as unwilling participants, collateral of the blood feud. Now here they were in an endless ocean of designations, Autobot, Decepticon, civilian, and everything in between. No factions. No warring. Only the collateral. Only what had been stolen. _Only what had been lost_.

Now he understood why Ratchet had sent him here. Freedom was the right of all sentient beings, and still, freedom of their brothers and sisters in combat had yet to be granted. Their fight had not been finished, nor had his leadership and burden. Silver lip plates pressed together in a thin line, caught between the will of duty and that of his personal greed, just as it had the day of the exodus. Optimus swallowed against the lump rising to choke his intake at the bitter memory.

A pull deep within his chamber urged he continue on and he complied, following the open walkway across the darkness to the towering mausoleum. Silently, and with newfound sobriety, tired cyan hues scanned through the names as they came to pass, their memory engraved in the black memorial slabs for eternity. Pedes trudged forwards in the deafening silence, optics tearing away from the countless designations and the gravity they held as the marble stairs led him on the continuing journey, delivering the Prime to large, ornate, gilded doors. For a second, he simply stood before them, gaze wandering over the refurbished surface, polished and pristine as though the war hadn’t occurred at all. Then, another revelation.

Optimus turned, peering from behind the hood at the black slabs standing in the silver moonlight, an empty canvass so unlike the last time he had stood on these steps. Then, a sea of mecha pauldron-to-pauldron reaching as far as the horizon, all mourning Zeta Prime on the eve of his entombment. Optimus had yet to take his larger form, still the embodiment of Orion Pax yet called by a different name. Skinny digits squeezed around his servo and the mech flinched instinctively. The grieved gaze shot to the side to see Elita, much younger than he recognized her to be, helm adorned with traditional ornamentation nodding in reassurance, just as pained and uncertain as he. Thicker digits reciprocated in kind, taking hers in a fortified hold, knowing this time for certain her presence was only a memory.

Optics blinked, transporting him back to reality. Vents cycled a quiet expulsion of air as pedes stepped forwards, crossing the looming shadows to stand a breath from the closed doors. Ridges furrowed and the crimson mass steeled itself, knowing exactly the procedure even after all these years.

It had been millennia since last he’d spoke Primal Vernacular, but strangely, it flowed effortlessly from his glossa on a gentle murmur.

“ _Grant entrance to one of your own, Optimus, successor of Zeta, last of the Primes._ ”

Without hesitation or warning a heavy groan erupted from the mausoleum, towering gilded doors reflected cool silver moonbeams as they parted slowly open inch by inch. Pedes absentmindedly took a step back to permit the doors wider berth while curious cyan hues peered through the widening gap, fixated on the inner sanctum finally revealing itself. Vents hitched on a soft cycle of air while the crimson frame stood frozen in place, waiting while the doors halted in their opened configuration with a final creak.

As before, the innate urge to enter bubbled within the very essence of his being, coaxing him forwards like a magnet to its attractive counterpart, a blind compulsion Optimus had no choice but to succumb to. Crossing the threshold cautiously optics darted from one marbled statue to the next, recognizing them from his studies all those many years ago. The Original Primes. Gigantic statues, three-times his own stature, watched in pairs from either side of a new corridor leading into the labyrinth that were the tombs, inscriptions of their designations and titles on bronze placards at their pedestals. Matching marble walls reached up to the heavens in massive corinthian columns, their width measuring twice his girth. Gilded decorative patterns ran up their sleek length and circulating the oval entryway in identical design to the main doors. Had it always been this way? Optimus looked around in awe, unable to recall exactly.

Vibrations under-pede like an earthquake and low rumbling thunder broke his concentration, whirling around to watch as the doors begun to close. Before he could think to move the doors locked in place with a whine, sealing him within. Silver lip plates pressed in a thin line and optical ridges crinkled. _Very well_. Glancing from towering Prime to Prime Optimus gave a long ventilation, starting down the corridor immediately ahead on a whim.

When laying Zeta to rest he had only ventured to that designated area, never having the chance to wander freely and absorb the palpable, spiritual energy radiating from all around. The air felt comforting, welcoming, his spark strangely at peace for the first time in eons while he traversed the concave hall aimlessly. Cyan hues peered to the side behind the hooded cloak, idly trailing over the carved patterns in the walls. Reaching out to gently trace over the indentations in slow passes worn digit tips trailed along the beautiful, flowing designs as he walked. The simple touch alone sent an involuntary electric current rippling through his circuitry, filling him with a warmth he wasn’t sure how to describe except only as serene.

The memorial walk had invoked a crippling heaviness, palpable like a thick, lingering fog. But here? Stark contrast. His aching spark felt relieved from all burdens, and the restless voices whirring within his processors temporarily silenced. Calm. Optimus stopped at the mouth of the dimly lit opening, servo falling from the cool sleek wall to rest at his side. Wandering optics canvassed the empty room cast in an eerie opal glow despite their being no immediate lighting source, at least, that he could ascertain. Come to think of it, the entirety of his journey in the tombs had been alit in a similar manner, soft ethereal white light guiding the inner workings yet their origination nowhere in sight.

Tilting his helm on an angle the Prime peeked upwards, hopeful to find the silver moons hanging above him in the black sea of the night sky, instead only bringing to view the heightened ceiling. Lip plates pursed. _Odd_. Optimus stepped forwards to stand at the centre of the circular room, dull pedefalls echoing around until dissipating into the dead air, returning him to total silence. Glancing around he found another corridor tucked to the side of the opposite wall, leading further into the bowels of the tombs. He held every intention of traversing farther, but for now, his fixation lay with searching for any markings or designs in the surrounding walls, wondering if perhaps this alcove had been built in preparation for his entombment… as unsettling a conclusion that would be. Why else would the room be left barren?

Curious to a fault he drew closer to a side wall for closer inspection, ridges furrowed and mouthplates pursed. Was there a significance he had missed, or detail overlooked? Gently, an icy glow illuminated from behind, saturating the marble surface facing him in a mysterious aquamarine hue. A guttural hum rumbled from the depths of his chassis, eyeing the soft blue light on the wall then turned in its direction. Optics shot open immediately and Optimus stiffened, sucking in a shallow, uncertain ventilation.

To the side of the secondary corridor a small reflective basin had materialized within a carved alcove in the wall, something that certainly hadn’t existed until this moment. The vibrant blue light pulsated from below the rim, casting the dim room in a mysterious glow. For a moment Optimus simply looked on, dumbfounded, rubbing at his optics between forceful blinks to assure what he saw truly existed. The calm pulsating aquamarine hue only seemed to grow brighter. Tugging forwards in its chamber the same innate urge to venture closure took hold of his systems, and pedes involuntarily trudged forwards against his will.

The tombs were a scared and mystical place, believed to act as a conduit between the Primes of the past with their successors in the mortal realm. Many Primal artifacts only catalogued in legends were said to have been buried here as well, their power, uses, and purposes a mystery he had attempted to solve during his days as a scholar. No answers had ever been uncovered, only finding more of the fabled myths and long forgotten lore. But… there was one account he recalled with fleeting clarity; a living piece of Primus tethering their world and the great beyond…

Another step closer. Saturated blues poured over the edge of the rim in delicate tendrils of smoke, dancing between the folds of his cloak. Optics squinted against the vivid glow as he peered down to it, lenses readjusting with clicks and shutters. Spark pulses seized beneath his chassis, mesmerized gaze unable to tear itself away from the luminous pool idly swirling at the base; like a living center of a precious jewel, or a drop of pure starlight.

“ _The Praeco_ …” Optimus murmured. A disbelieving grin tugged at the corners of his mouth in an expression comparable to a giddy schoolboy. “ _It exists_ …” he vented, giving a small shake of his helm. Another wave of light lapped at his frame, bringing with it a distinctive warmth he had felt before and knew all too well…

Optimus hesitated at the reflective basin, processors whirring at a feverish rate. According to legend, and the one tale Alpha Trion had indulged him in as a youngling, the Praeco served as a mouthpiece of sorts, between them and the omnipotent maker himself, and all who had been reclaimed to the spiritual fold. In times when the Matrix failed to yield the answers needed Primes would offer their questions to the Praeco and be rewarded with divine guidance. Alpha Trion had warned, though, the Praeco was not as reliable as one often considered it to be. While shrouded in a wealth of wisdom, it did not answer to everyone, only the chosen. To hear the voice in response was as legendary as the Praeco itself, with no records of such ever happening to prove the occurrence were even possible. Still, blind faith continued to weave the tale…

Large servos rubbed wearily at his optics, the cyan hues peeking over behind slit lids at the entrancing ripples of the alluring blue pool and twisting smoke tendrils. Would it even be possible? The Prime loomed over the glowing basin, staring into the brilliance shining up at him with a warmth of a sun. He already knew what question he would ask, it was the only thing in the entire universe he needed to know, once and for all.

Silver lip components pressed together, the words poised and at the ready at the tip of his glossa. Anticipation mounted. Finally, he would have the answer he had been searching relentlessly for, after all this time… Steeling himself, Optimus’ frame hunched slightly over while spark pulses fell in time with that of the Praeco, though he hardly noticed either phenomena.

“ _Is she out there?_ ” he asked, gentle baritone a barely audible whisper, “ _Is Elita alive?_ ”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, I know there wasn't a lot of dialogue in this puppy, but, goddamn do I love exploring Primely artifacts and Prime-related lore, especially Primal vernacular... I will say this though, Optimus is a lot braver than I am. Wandering around a giant tomb by himself mostly in the dark? Count. Me. OUT. Lol, I'm too much of a weenie to go exploring like that.
> 
> What do you think? Is Elita alive or just a ghost that keeps coming back? Will the Praceo give him Optimus his answer? 
> 
> Follow, kudos, comment, and stay tuned...


	5. Lost

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey howdy hey, squad! Gotta brand new chapter for you all to kick off the summer season. *Slaps the roof of this chapter* This bad boy can fit so much f*ckin angst in it... which is why it's a bit lengthy, but my goal is that it makes up for the long dry spell. I hope it was worth the wait! Good news is, I have really great headway for the next chapter so another update will be coming relatively soon. (Fingers crossed!)
> 
> CHAPTER TRACK: https://youtu.be/keOrv6eYDjc
> 
> Remember to follow, fave, and comment below! I always look forward to reading what you all have to say and love to hear all of your different theories! A lot of my writing is fuelled by feedback, so keep it up! :3 xoxo

“ _Is she out there?_ ” _he asked, gentle baritone a barely audible whisper,_ “ _Is Elita alive?_ ”

Optimus paused then cleared his vocoder, realizing he had likely been too quiet previously. Narrowed optics alit with newfound determination never wavered from the swirling hues of the Praeco, bearing down on the pulsating pool of light intently.

“Is Elita alive?” the Prime repeated, more forceful than before. Audials flicked, listening carefully for an answer or any subtle hint that his message had been received. Nothing. All that came was the quiet whir of the Praeco’s energy morphing in on itself over and over in an eternal cosmic dance. Bright tendrils curled up towards him in subtle taunt. Optical ridges furrowed on a sharp angle, and lips downturned in a frown.

“Has my Conjunx been banished off-world to the stars?” he rumbled, listening closely for several more seconds. Again, nothing.

Spark pulses plodded heavily in its casing, drawing a shallow whistle of air from parted lip plates. _No_ … Optimus shook his helm while large servos curled over the sides of the reflective basin, hesitation melting away into rising agitation. He refused to concede. After all that Primus had put him through, surely, the Maker could offer him this one kindness?

“Where is she? Please, this is all I ask of you, all I have _ever_ asked of you–” the Prime demanded, cyan hues burning into the airy wisps of hypnotic blues swirling below him.

“ _Answer me!_ ” he growled.

Silence.

The burning gaze blinked against the blinding aquamarine glow, so warm and peaceful in the nothingness. Aggravation made way for desperation. A deflated, distressed sigh hitched beneath crimson plating.

“I need to know…” the mech begged, naturally smooth baritone crackling on rising static. His voice dropped to a barely audible volume, the words tumbling from the aged vocoder brokenly.

“ _Please…_ _Tell me where she is_ …” Optimus vented harshly, helm dipping forwards as spark pulses ached painfully in his chassis. “ _I need to know_ …”

Deafening silence. Glistening optics screwed closed. The mighty helm hung in defeat, feeling the ghostly touch of the blue tendrils kiss his fascia, the comfort of their warmth lost. After everything he had been put through Primus had chosen to abandon him. No answer. No acknowledgement. Only cold, empty silence. That’s all that ever greeted him anymore. Silence. Why had he been so foolish to believe now would be any different?

Pulling away from the Praeco and collecting himself he watched the gentle tendrils overflowing from the rim, pulsing blue lights casting their vibrant hues over the sleek surrounding walls. _Only the chosen can hear the voice_. Alpha Trion’s words echoed through his audials on a faint murmur. Only the chosen. Who were the chosen? Likely, no one. Another myth that lacked credence. Optimus could only accept the inevitable, destined to search for the answers he sought for on his own accord. The frown broadened.

The Prime already knew he wouldn’t be granted the courtesy of such an endeavour upon returning to the ship either, both Ratchet and Bumblebee had made that much abundantly clear. From here on out the entire team’s focus would be on whatever other Autobot signals they found. It seemed fate held other plans for him, then again, fate rarely called upon those at a moment of their choosing he had come to find, or rather, experience.

Readjusting the trailing cloak with a roll of weary shoulder pauldrons Optimus eyed the secondary corridor off to the side. May as well enjoy what was left of the peaceful solitude while it lasted, his time spent here would have to be short; permitted to wander only for a short time lest have the ship risk being detected by patrols. Salvaging what he assumed to be what little remained of his idle roaming, the Prime started down the hall, leaving the Praeco behind without a final glance or thought.

Elita was out there, Optimus could feel it with every fibre of his being, an ancient artifact needn’t validate what he already knew. Even still, there remained the nagging whisper of uncertainty, a creeping doubt in the pit of his spark; a blight to his renowned optimism. _No_. Shaking his helm he cast the lingering thought aside. Elita was alive, he was certain of it. Never had she given up on him in his most dire need, he owed it to his Conjunx to continue fighting, to continue searching until they could be together again, no matter how long it took.

A servo instinctively lifted to cover over his pained spark pulsing beneath the tattered cloak, swearing by the All-Spark he felt her faint touch for a glimpse of a second. The invisible force returned immediately after, leading him farther down the winding pathway into the bowels of the tombs. Optimus rounded another corner and stared straight ahead, and a faint glow immediately caught the dimmed gaze from the end of the long hall. Another artifact, perhaps?

Quickening the pace to a brisk walk the tattered cloak flapped behind him, an odd sensation he had yet to grow used to. Heavy pedefalls reverberated off decorative concave walls, their depictions lost to him as cyan hues locked onto the target beyond.

The mysterious pull deep within his spark chamber strengthened with every step taken, driving the large frame forwards at a brisk gait for reasons beyond his comprehension. It called to him. A whisper of another kind. One without words, one that manifested in the very essence of his being, permeating every thought and instinct.

Stepping into the phantom blue glow stretching from behind the corner the light cast over the cloak and what of his fascia peeked behind the hood, its warmth reminiscent of the Praeco, but also different, as though existing on opposite ends of an unknown spectrum. Optical ridges narrowed and he bit at the inner mesh lining his cheekplating. Apprehensive. Wary. Military protocols whirred quietly throughout his circuitry in response to the sudden unease lingering in the cool air. On a whim he glanced behind to the looming shadows, the light from the other end long since faded. Now, only the unknown blue glow radiating from behind the corner provided the faint illumination in the surrounding darkness.

Optimus shivered, optics wandering down another black corridor to his side. Gentle opal light peeked through the crevasses from an unknown source above, raining onto faceless statues lining the path deeper into the tombs. Cyan hues went from figure to figure, inspecting the intricate detailing and Primal glyphs etched into the brassy armour. Knights of Cybertron he managed to surmise. Optics narrowed, half expecting one to move at any moment but was only met with the unnerving stillness. Eerie. Another chill crept down his spinal column, prying the Prime’s gaze back to the pale glow.

Rounding the corner without a second thought he crossed the dim threshold to stand at the front end of another large room, the warm blue light coming over him like a peaceful, inviting wave. Optimus blinked against it, optics readjusting to the brighter atmosphere with multiple shuttering clicks. Squinting a moment more his vision cleared from the previous blue blur, widened cyan hues instantly darting across the sea of glass tubes lining the wall and free-standing shelves. The Prime gawked, canvassing what must’ve been hundreds of thousands of vials, each one a unique shape and size, all filled with inner-most Energon in a traditional offering. _That would explain the blue light_ …

Ridges furrowed quizzically while the somber gaze swept from one vial to the next, carefully navigating the fragile maze and peeking through each tube curiously. It was no secret he currently stood inside a tomb, he had seen such a display before for Zeta’s burial, and at makeshift mass civilian graves during the war, neither of them to this degree, however. The room, if it could even be called that, miniature arena perhaps served as a better description, looked to house the entire population of Cybertron within its walls if the glowing vials were anything to go by. Each one left in homage to whatever Prime had passed… but who?

Lip plates pursed as processors whirred, trying to recall. It could be any of his predecessors, he hadn’t the opportunity to wander this deep into the tombs on his last and only visitation prior. Zeta had gleaned many offerings but not to this degree, that much he remembered with perfect clarity. Alpha Trion? No. No one but he and Zeta, and Elita for that matter, ever knew of the elder Archivist’s true stature in regard to the Primacy…

Turning to the side while lost in thought cyan optics vacantly stared at another mesmerizing row of inner-most Energon tubes, the shelving units stretching high above. Optimus craned his neck to follow the soft blue lights to the ceiling beneath the hood, staring upwards like a youngling gazing upon the stars for the first time. Something from the bowels of his spark urged him forwards yet again, gaze dropping at the silent command from high above to the mural stretching across the titanic wall now facing him. Optics widened, practically bulging out of their sockets.

“ _Impossible_ …” he breathed, taking a cautious step back, “It… cannot be…”

Staring down to him was a hand-carved mural of himself, larger than life, the sheer size almost intimidating. Optimus Prime, painted in front of the many galaxies in their system and cradling Earth in careful servos where his spark lay beneath his chassis, optics closed in an eternal rest amongst the stars. Pale, in-laid lights within the multitude of carved lines cast a gentle, soothing glow over all who stood in its presence. He stepped farther into its reach.

The mech swallowed against the dry lump choking his intake in disbelief though it was little use, his mouth suddenly parched of saliva. All Optimus could do was gape unblinkingly as his spark hammered in his chassis, a flurry of emotions washing over him with a force that nearly sent the crimson frame crumbling to the marble ground.

His tomb. This was his tomb…

Bewildered, the Prime looked from side to side at the ocean of surrounding vials with a much different perspective than before. All of these were offered for him. Each tube one of his friends, or a colleague, or a complete stranger now living on their homeworld because of his sacrifice. Were it not for being so unnerved, flattery and humility certainly would’ve taken to the forefront of his emotions and whirring thoughts.

A weak cycle of air trickled past silver lip components as optics followed the mural downward, finding another peculiar sight awaiting the awestruck gaze. This sight a welcomed one. Optimus cleared the three small steps leading up in a single bound, hovering over the unprotected display.

“The Star Saber…” he murmured. Tentatively reaching out towards the polished blade he paused, thick digits curling mid-air then ultimately pulled away. Optimus remembered how it felt, the weight it carried, and the cold metallic kiss of the hilt in the palm of his servo. The crimson arm quietly fell back within the folds of the cloak, piecing together the string of unknown events that found the Saber within his tomb in the contemplative silence. Sobered cyan hues lifted, peering up at the mural.

With the Archives destroyed and Alpha Trion’s vaults no longer secure the Nova Council had need of a new sanctuary for such a prolific and powerful artifact, somewhere it would not be disturbed. Only a Prime could enter these tombs upon its reconstruction, so it would stand to reason that the Saber too found its final resting place here with he who last wielded it. Buried alongside the last of the Primes for eternity. Another ancient relic for the collection, Optimus supposed.

The phantom pull in the depths of his spark chamber swelled once more, coaxing him to peel away from the Star Saber in unvoiced question. Where would it lead him now? Hadn’t there been enough revelations for one night? Ratchet’s point had been made ten times over, what more could there have yet to be uncovered? Grimacing, he heeded the invisible force’s command, turning from the display and back into the maze of free-standing Energon shelves littering the open floor.

Optics flicked from vial to vial as they had previously, no names to be noted, same as before. The sensation only grew stronger with every wandering step, to the point it caused a visceral pain to engulf his spark’s core. What once had been gentle nudges now morphed into harsh waves, unrelenting as the untamed oceans of Earth. Optimus grunted, clutching at the crimson chassis with a weary ex-vent.

Muttering a curse under his breath the Prime stalked back the way he came, only just now noticing the room extended far deeper than initially noticed. The inner-Energon vials and shelves extended several hundreds of yards, circling along the walls and filling the floor. More artifacts likely waited on the opposite end, and despite the aching in the pit of his spark the innate curiosity in his nature took hold, wondering whatever other treasures lay ahead.

Carefully slipping between the winding shelving units he kept his gaze at his pedes and immediate surroundings, large and cumbersome frame now more than ever out of place amongst such delicate displays. Again, the sheer size of the room made itself known, and he couldn’t help but marvel while walking. Even with the multitudes of innermost-Energon vials they still couldn’t fully light the grand space, presumably as large as the entrance to the Archives by his measure, judging by his lumbering paces. Eventually, the shelves made way to another open landing just as the other side had. The Prime drew a sigh of relief, only just having noticed he’d withheld from ventilating during the tedious navigation.

From behind the hood Optimus stared out across the divide and both the Star Saber and mural could hardly be seen, swallowed by the looming shadows and soft glowing tubes, reminiscent of fireflies in the dead of night he mused. Another pull, this one sharp like a knife cut through his spark and the mech winced, obeying once more and shifted his gaze forwards dutifully. What met him was anything but anticipated.

Cyan hues widened immediately at the towering wall facing him. Spark pulses lurched in its casing, forcing a pained, sputtering ventilation to tumble from his components. Shaking his helm slowly he swallowed the rising lump in his vocoder, staggering back into a short inner-most Energon display and nearly knocked it over, though the action went unnoticed. All focus remained on the mirrored mural stretched across the marble wall.

“ _No_ …” Optimus choked, “ _No… No_ –” the constricted vocalizer allowed only another pained wheeze escape, rendering the tortured Prime completely speechless.

The glossy film of coolant stung his optics and he blinked rapidly against them, sucking in shallow ventilation after ventilation while his gaze wildly darted across the mural. Constructed exactly in the same manner as his, Cybertron’s skyline of all its major citystates stretched from end to end, while vines of delicate indigenous flora – the likes of which he’d enjoyed at the Crystal Gardens countless times – wove intricate patterns around the edges, converging at the center. There, standing in front the bed of decorative flora was Elita, slender servos cradling Cybertron where his had held Earth, optics closed in peaceful rest, famous frame illuminated with the ethereal glow of in-laid lights. An exact mirror of his mural. Tragically beautiful.

Optimus felt his spark lurch into his intake and he heaved, helm shaking violently beneath the hood. Knee joints trembled and whined, the weight of his mass suddenly too heavy to hold up as though gravity had collapsed down upon him. The Prime swallowed, forcing himself a step closer as glassy optics simply stared up at her.

“ _How_ –” he croaked, blinking back the relentless prick of coolant. How was this possible? He had searched for her name on the Reflection Memorial leading to the tombs. Her designation remained on the roster of Autobots exiled from Cybertron. Surely, just as his own monument had been erected under a false pretense, hers had also been mistake? Simply constructed per custom as Conjunx Endura were buried together symbolically. Yes, that had to be it. Optimus nodded. Everyone had believed he had passed to the Well, so when they built his tomb one had also been built in honour of Elita…

Another pull, his spark sank, not wanting to follow the advance.

The pained gaze fell from the gigantic mural to another uncovered display, this one much smaller than the Star Saber. He recognized it immediately. Any hope he desperately clung to bled from his frame in a single deflating ventilation.

“ _No_ …” Optimus breathed. Reaching the third-tier landing in a single step gravity won the battle and his frame dropped to weary knee joints, the heavy clank reverberating off the surrounding walls along with pops and cracks. Servos slowly pulled the hood back absent-mindedly, unaware of his actions as though caught in a trance. Cyan hues stared unblinkingly at the empty fuchsia helmet, suspended by an invisible force and gently illuminated as the Saber had been. Again, he swallowed the lump clogging his intake, helm shaking as a wheeze trickled from aged vents. It couldn’t be… this couldn’t be happening…

Optics inspected the surface carefully. Every scratch, every dent, and every scuff were totally and unmistakably hers. Just as he had last seen… well, with the new marring inflicted while on dark Cybertron. A small welded vein curled around one of her finnials, previously broken off from the helmet in a way he didn’t know, and didn’t want to know. Vents hitched and the Prime crumpled forwards, unable to hold back the urge any longer and gently trailed his digit tips over the sleek metal.

Whispered baritone crackled on static, “ _Elita_ …” Optimus choked on a silent sob, its power racking his frame with a violent shudder. “ _My Elita_ …” he sputtered brokenly, thumbing over the repaired finnial.

The feeling alone, so familiar and so foreign, claimed another sob from his vocoder, this one barely audible yet ten times as anguished while his spark tore itself apart into fractured shards. Optics wrenched themselves from the solitary helmet, heavy helm dropping forwards with a crack of neck joints to stare at a placard that seemed to appear out of thin air. Somehow, he brought himself to read it, spark breaking at each and every word:

IN LOVING MEMORY OF ELITA-1.

OUR FEARLESS PROTECTOR, REVERERD COUNCILLOR, COMMANDER, DEAR FRIEND, AND BELOVED CONJUNX.

GONE BUT NEVER FORGOTTEN. MAY SHE REST IN ETERNAL PEACE.

An agonized cry tore from the Prime’s vocoder, echoing off the walls only to dissipate in the bowels of the tombs. _She was gone_. When? How? Was she all alone on Cybertron? Where was her frame? Was this all that was left of her?

The mighty crimson frame shuddered in the wake of another near-silent sob. All the emotions he’d kept walled for millions of years breaking free through the cracks of the crumbling façade. Of all the pains he had come to experience during the war and then again in near-death paled in comparison to the torture currently carried out against him. It felt as though his very being had been ripped in two, metal and internal wiring flayed to leave him bare. Raw emotion bled out on his Field and choked the airways for what must’ve been miles around like a dark, bitter fog. The extent of his grief limitless and consumed him whole.

“ _I’m sorry_ ,” Optimus choked, looking up again to her helmet; the only remains of his greatest love. “ _I’m so sorry_ …” the shallow voice tapered off into a weak ventilation, hissing past chaffed lip components.

A coolant tear broke free from his optic, trickling down over silver faceplates. Another abnormality the Prime hardly recognized. The last time he cried was with her, how fitting it was to be in her presence again.

“I promised I would come back for you–” Another weak cycle of air hitched behind crimson chestplates. “But I was too late,” he vented harshly, “ _I was too late_ –”

Glossy cyan hues regarded the helmet, reaching for it once more out of dire compulsion, a necessity to touch her, to feel her. The warmth in his digits were immediately banished by frigid cold fuchsia metal. Where once her familiar coolness had brought such great comfort, now, it only sparked agony. The touch of the dead. Vents wheezed on a warbled sigh as another tear fell from dimmed optics, cresting at his chinplate to drop to the marble floor.

“Is this where you were leading me for so long?” the Prime asked quietly, brokenly. “Bringing me here to find you once again, after all this time?” A thumb trailed over the side of her helmet as it had done countless times before. Silence. A beat. Nodding his helm unthinkingly Optimus swallowed the lump in his vocoder. _Yes_. Shifting on his knee joints the crimson mass leaned carefully forwards, pressing his forecrest to hers, an action he had only dreamt of doing for eons.

Silence. Optics slit open, peeking to the empty helmet then to his digits still idly caressing the cold metal like they had those many years ago. The gentle touch was enough to soothe the pang residing in his spark, and he clung to it desperately, letting the swell of emotions fill him once more.

The Prime knew Elita was with him still, living in his memories and woven within his spark. Her very existence had been etched within the essence of his being, a part of her that would live on in him in this world and the next. But it wasn’t the same, it would never be the same as having her with him again. All his dreams of seeing her smile again, or hearing her voice, or holding her in his arms were gone. There was nothing tangible of her left in this world save for her empty helmet, nothing he could revive or hang hope on. All this time Optimus had been chasing after a ghost, he just hadn’t known it then. Destined to live in willful ignorance only to have harsh reality cleave his spark in two.

For a brief moment, Optimus swore he could feel her presence once again, and vents claimed a shallow cycle of air. The cool phantom's embrace surrounded him and blindly the Prime leaned into the touch, but just as a smoke caught in a gentle wind it vanished without a trace, leaving him alone in the bitter silence with nothing but her memory to keep company. Wiping at the residual coolant staining his fascia Optimus inched back, canvassing the beautifully depicted piece of art towering above him with a dimmed gaze. All the mech could do was bask in the gentle glow the tranquil carving radiated, though it did little to ease the pain, in fact it only made it worse. A grim reminder that he had lost her.

“ _I love you, Lita_ ,” he whispered, “ _I love you so much…_ ” Another trembling ventilation whistled past silver lip components, crimson frame trembling on a silent shudder.

_How much…_

The soft alto voice whispered to him. Whether it be from a memory, apparition, or the great beyond Optimus didn’t bother to question the phenomena. Searching the depths of his spark for what parts of her remained laced in his being he clung to the sensation desperately, and like trapping a fistful sand the tiny granules escaped through the gapes of his hold no matter how tightly he clutched them, but still he tried.

“More than all the stars in the sky…” he answered. Quiet baritone reverberated off the walls in a murmured echo, dissipating into the grieved silence.

Spark pulses barely made themselves known, so fragile and weak Optimus wondered if they pulsed at all. What tethers to life kept him functioning were of no consequence to him, none of it simply mattered anymore.

_How long…_

Elita’s voice whispered to him again, this time much more distant and fleeting.

Dropping his helm forward under the weight of gravity itself the agonized gaze blurred behind welling coolant, staring at the fuchsia helmet to follow the cracks and scratches stretched over what once was virgin metal. Defeated. Broken. Bittersweet. Baritone wavered on static.

“ _Always._ ”

*******

“They’re trying to reach us on one of the old Autobot frequencies, do we answer it?” Strongarm pressed, as the rest of the team manned their stations.

Bumblebee frowned, “So close to Cybertron… it could be a trap.”

“I wouldn’t put it past the Nova Council to lure in Autobots using old frequencies. They’re looking for any reason to imprison Bots breaking the exile order,” Ratchet scoffed.

The former Scout's frown broadened. Black optical ridges furrowed in mounting concern. “Drift, any luck detecting the source?”

“No. Our scanners aren’t picking up any ship in the vicinity. So strange…”

“It’s like they don’t exist!” Sideswipe whined, frantically tapping into his console’s keypad, “There’s _nothing_ out there! How is that even possible?”

Loud pings of the incoming transmission request filled the front of the deck on the main screen, lasting several long seconds until it stopped, switched channels, and repeated the process again. All optics looked to Bumblebee for an answer, unsure what to do or what danger they may have placed themselves in. Several more seconds passed, tense and turbulent. Finally, Bumblebee shifted in place and nodded his helm slowly.

“Tell Optimus we need his location to bridge him back. We can’t risk idling here any longer,” he said, eyeing Ratchet who immediately took to his comm. The pings on the main screen only grew in volume.

“Bee, we can’t continue like this. Whoever it is they obviously know we’re close by. If we ignore them any longer they might try to board,” Windblade vented, turning back to the yellow mech.

Strongarm sighed, “Maybe they’ll just give us a warning…?”

“There’s no way they want to give us just a warning,” Sideswipe countered, “Face it, we’re done for. They’re going to arrest all our afts.”

Bumblebee bristled, “No one is getting arrested, Sideswipe. It could be another Autobot ship requesting help. The code looks to be encrypted, and even if it is older, it could be all some Autobots have available to them since going off-world…” Pausing, large optics flickered up to the main screen making a split decision and hoping it was the right one, for all their sakes. It was a risk they needed to take, but a calculated one. Spark pulses heaved beneath the yellow and black chassis.

“Open our channel to receive the transmission.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Curls into a ball, tries not to cry, cries deeply*
> 
> Whoever was team Elita is alive... I'm so sorry. But there's always Ghost!Elita which is kinda nice, right... right? Question remains though, is she really a ghost or is it just memories haunting Optimus? Hands up if you think the Council is tricking Bumblebee's team so they can be intercepted. Idk about any of you but I'd abandon ship lol
> 
> Place your bets! What do you think is going to happen? Comment below and let me know! And make sure to follow, kudos, and stay tuned...


	6. Contact

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Helloooooooooo all you lovely people! Hope everyone has been having a good summer thus far (or winter, depending on where you're geographically located). Ran into a few snags in personal life which delayed the posting of this chapter but, they're squared away, and this puppy is up and running. Also, we are OFFICIALLY in July which means Transformers: WFC - Siege is dropping on Netflix this month! I'm already consumed with it (for obvious reasons) and am literally counting down the days until it's released.
> 
> Also, we have some new forms of communication introduced in this chapter which I've tried to identify with differentiating punctuation! Breakdown is below:
> 
> > [ Text Comm/Message ]
> 
> :: Audio/Voice Comm ::
> 
> *For the purposes of Vid-Screen calls/transmissions, since they're speaking face-to-face (so to speak) they'll maintain the use of quotation marks for simplicity sake. Other TF authors vary on what they choose to annotate with but... I'm going with quotation marks. Sorry if that's different from what you're used to.
> 
> CHAPTER TRACK: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3o3YWC1JrtM
> 
> Remember to follow, fave, and comment below! I always look forward to reading what you all have to say and love to hear all of your different theories! A lot of my writing is fuelled by feedback, so keep it up! :3 xoxo

“Commander, we’re picking up unusual chatter on the Enforcer frequencies…” the Analyst called up, voice barely audible over the murmur of idle chatter and clacking keyboards in the large Communications and Surveillance deck. Both Analysts on either side of the young mech turned briefly at the noise, then peeked over at his screen curiously. The rest of the room hardly noticed, too focused on their own tasks to take in much else around them.

Turning at her module on the upper deck the sturdy cobalt frame gleaned a quiet groan as the heavy weight redistributed itself on even heavier pedes. Optical ridges raised expectantly as large arms crossed over the broad chassis, matching cobalt optics shot down to the lower level in wry amusement.

“Did ya have any specifics with that announcement? Or did ya just feel in the sharin’ mood tonight, Quickbeat?” she drawled.

“No, Ma’am! – _I mean_ – yes, Ma’am! Er…”

“Get the lugnuts outta yer mouth and tell me what the frag is goin’ on down there, Quickbeat.”

“Right, s-sorry, Ma’am– There’s chatter on the Enforcer frequencies about activity at the Tomb of the Primes,” he explained then squinted, tapping at the magnetized audio covering as voices again bubbled up on the other line. Quickbeat repeated their words immediately. “Sounds like someone set off some sort of security trip on the doors. They’ve been… _opened_ …”

“ _What–_ ” the Commander barked, startling every Analyst in the immediate vicinity, most of them jolting in their seats then whirling around to see what happened. Scarred servos curled over the thick banister, easing the mighty weight against it as she hunched over.

“Those doors are the only entrance and exit into that place and they’re damn well impenetrable. Yer tellin’ me someone got through them?”

“Looks like it, Ma’am. They’re scrambling a chunk of their forces to investigate right now, and alerting the Chancellor…”

A beat.

“Don’t suppose there’s any word on who they think it might be?”

Quickbeat’s helm shook in response, free servo scratching at his mouth-covering absentmindedly. That was enough incentive for the femme to pull from the banister, straightening to canvas the large room before addressing him once more.

“I want yer entire tier listenin’ to all frequencies of theirs we have available. If they make any moves, or share any updates, I want to know about it before their Captains do, copy?” A chorus of “yes, Ma’ams” met her audials and she turned away to access her comm.

:: It’s ‘Mia, :: she murmured. :: Sorry to wake ya, but we might have a situation here. I need authorization to send a Scout down to Cybertron to scope things out. Could have a renegade ‘Bot on our servos– ::

The gruff monotone voice on the other end vented. Chromia could practically hear Prowl rolling his optics, but the mildly exasperated sigh sufficed in lieu of the visual.

:: _What evidence do you have that makes you so certain, exactly?_ ::

:: Whoever it is tripped a silent alarm at the Tomb of the Primes. Managed to open the doors somehow. We both know that warrants lookin’ into, Prowl… ::

A poorly masked curse muttered under his breath broke the temporary silence, along with distinctive shifting beneath thin thermal coverings. Officially back on duty.

:: _Send a Scout for surveillance and possible extraction. If there’s any way they found a way to break into the Tombs we have to try and collect them before the Enforcers do. Whatever their reasoning is they could be a strong ally to potentially have in our ranks._ ::

Chromia shifted in place, lowering her tone to a barely audible decibel.

:: Ya don’t think ‘Con loyalists have come outta hidin’ and are up to their ol’ tricks again, do ya? Or worse… ::

The immediate response was a pregnant pause, followed by a low ventilation. Prowl rubbed at his temples with muted squeaks of padded metal on metal on the other side of the comm.

:: _I’m not sure,_ ::he finally rasped,:: _All the more reason for us to get someone there now and see if they can make contact before everything goes to the Pit._ ::

Blue optical ridges furrowed, lip plates riddled with scars she’d given up on buffing out pressed together in a thin line.

:: Copy. :: A brief pause. :: Are ya gonna be the one to– ::

:: _I’ve just alerted the Supreme Commander. Authorization granted_. ::

Well, that answered that question, Chromia mused. Faint pops and clicks sounded on the other side of the comm, Prowl was on the move.

:: _Keep me updated on the situation. I’m sending reinforcements to your division to assist with the extraction should you require it._ ::

:: Copy. :: the femme replied, pivoting to peer out over the now bustling deck.

With that the line cut and she tapped a nearby vid-screen, calling up a new frequency. Within seconds another femme filled the screen, fascia half-hidden behind a chrome mouthplate, an extension to the rest of her helm. All of her appeared sleek and without any defining horns, crests, or finnials, giving her helm a naturally hooded appearance. Deep violet facial paint covered whatever parts of her cheekplates and forehelm were visible above the mask in direct contrast to her bright amber optics, like a dandelion against an eggplant Arcee had said, whatever the frag those were…

“Commander,” the faceless Scout acknowledged, dipping her helm forwards respectfully.

“Yer up, kid. Gotta trip planned for ya to Cybertron. Hope yer in the mood for a possible extraction.”

“Well, you know how much I love a good extraction…” she hummed as amber optics flashed.

Chromia snorted with a lopsided grin, “Head to Bay 12, Nightbird. Someone will inform ya on the way.”

“Copy that, Commander.” The screen fizzled to black.

“Starburst,” Chromia turned and nodded to the younger cherry red femme beside her, “Ya catch all that?”

Unlike the Commander’s stature, Starburst stood only about half the height, and while Chromia boasted a broad and sturdy build, the other appeared streamline with exaggerated curves. Metallic buns on either side of the top of her helm each bore an antenna sticking straight up from their centres and pointed to the sky, often compared to mercury balls with sample sticks on a tasting platter. But, despite the vaguely cherub-like appearance, as Chief Communications Officer Starburst held the second highest rank in the room, so no one commented further on her physicality. She was about as delicate as a steel slab.

“Yes, Ma’am,” Starburst chirped, “I’m on it.” Two of her four arms scribbled notes onto a data pad while the other two typed away into a nearby keypad, sending the information to Nightbird remotely. It was a marvel to watch her work, especially when each of her appendages were busy with separate tasks, very few in their ranks had ever seen such speed, let alone so many appendages. Before Chromia could ask for a status update another Analyst called up from the below deck, swivelling in their chair pre-emptively.

“Commander, I’m picking up an Autobot ship signal nearby.”

“Well, isn’t this turnin’ out to be an eventful night!” Chromia snorted, crossing her arms over the broad blue chassis once again. “What’s the location?”

“Just on the other side of the first moon, Ma’am. They’re just… idling?”

Scarred lip plates pressed together once more. Chromia simply nodded her helm, staring out to the large holoscreens at the front of the deck, all of them filled with various graphs and live feeds.

“They think they’re outta range of any patrol ships… but, they can’t stay there much longer or they’re gonna make themselves a target,” she surmised out loud, then turned back to the Analyst. “Most ‘Bots know by now to stay away from Cybertron, it could be a set up. Starburst, get me a scan of that ship and see if it matches any on our roster.”

Looking over to a younger femme who was unlucky enough to meet the steely gaze Chromia’s helm gave sharp nod. “And I want our scout drone onlined for live feed, right now.”

“Yes, Ma’am,” the Analyst blurted, clacking away at the keypads at a feverish pace. The entire tier worked to lock onto the ship, each with different expertise and priorities. They’d been through this drill thousands of times.

“Got it. I found a match– ” Starburst said, “Ship was originally assigned to… _CMO Ratchet,_ upon his exiling…” her voice trailed off. Uncertain optics peeked over to the Commander beside her, trying to read her reaction along with the rest of the room. The entire deck fell silent and still.

Chromia held back the hopeful smile with expert precision. Unfazed and in control. Leaning over the banister she dictated another order without pause. “Alright, ya know the drill. Make encrypted contact usin’ the old Autobot frequencies. Level 1, understand? None of that light-coded slag ya like to pull in the field.”

Another chorus of “Yes, Ma’am’s” filled the deck followed by bustling frames and murmured chatter. Each mecha moved quickly with their assigned duties or simply picked up the pace if their task was unrelated so as not to look slothful.

“Drone is online and locked on target, live feed on main screen… now,” a bot said, Chromia didn’t look down to see who.

Cobalt optics shot up to the centre screen with live feed of Ratchet’s ship, or at least, previously assigned ship, idling on the dark side of Cybertron’s first moon. Whether or not he still used it was anyone’s guess, but still, she held to hope that perhaps they had been lucky enough to find him after all this time.

“Contact made. Sending encrypted communication now,” another bot said, sending the message's live feed to one of the large main screens overhead.

*******

:: Optimus, this is Ratchet. Our ship has been intercepted. You must send us your coordinates so we can send a bridge immediately. Do you copy? Over. ::

Silence. Aggravated, the CMO shook his helm and sighed, furiously typing into a keypad in hopes to strengthen the signal.

:: Optimus, this is Ratchet. We need to bridge you back immediately. Send us your coordinates. Over. ::

Silence mixed with static.

“No luck?” Bumblebee gently asked, coaxing a deflating sigh from the Medic.

“No,” Ratchet vented wearily. “It looks like something is blocking both the ship’s channel and my comm. My guess is he’s too deep within the Tombs for a signal.”

Bumblebee frowned, “Or someone else is blocking us from contacting him.” Narrowed optics peered up to the main holoscreen, waiting for the encrypted message to fill the blackness.

“Think this could be their doing?” Ratchet dared to ask.

A pause befell the two mechs. Bumblebee’s processors whirred so ferociously they could practically be heard.

“I don’t know,” he finally answered, “But I think we’re about to find out.”

All optics stared intently at the main screen now filled with the decrypted message.

> [ _A Cybertronian patrol is making its rounds and will soon detect your current position. We can help you, but time is short. Please identify yourself. We are not a threat._ ]

The entire team stilled at the cryptic words. After a few silent seconds Sideswipe cocked his helm on an exasperated angle.

“Would it kill them to be specific?” he groaned, “What’s ‘ _We_ ’ supposed to mean?!”

Strongarm’s optical ridges furrowed, watching a nearby scanner at her module with vested interest.

“Whoever they are, they’re right about the Cybertronian patrol. They’ll spot us in a few minutes unless we do something.”

“So, why don’t we just fly to the other side of the moon until they leave?” Grimlock scratched his helm, “Doesn’t seem so complicated.”

“On the contrary,” Drift cut in calmly, “Our advantage is using the moon as a barrier so they can’t detect our presence on any monitors or satellites. If we move, we’d be put right in their sights.”

Windblade turned to Bumblebee, “I’m not picking up any other signals in the area either. For all we know, these guys could be in the next system. There’s no telling where they’d be bridging us to if we went with them.”

“Well it sounds better than being arrested by the patrols,” Sideswipe urged, then shivered. “Remember what Ratchet said happened to any Autobots they took prisoner?”

The same chill ran up everyone’s spinal struts at the grim words. For any Autobots, or Decepticons for that matter, who were unlucky enough to be taken captive following the exile order were condemned to life imprisonment in the Nova Council’s cells. Locked away underground with no sunlight, no moonlight, and barely any Energon. Worst of all were the rumours of torture carried out by the guards as a means of ratting out other mecha who hid on the Cybertron or its the sister colonies. As of now they were only rumours but, considering the lengths the Council went to in hunting down what they branded to be War Criminals, it wasn’t hard to believe.

“We need to know who they are first before we make any move. Windblade, reply back to them and hurry,” Bumblebee said, clasping his servos over his hip joints unthinkingly.

Ratchet looked over dauntingly, “And what about Optimus?” They shared a knowing look and brief pause, both equally uneasy with the situation.

“Keep trying him any way you can,” Bumblebee vented, turning back to peek warily out the window to the curvature of the moon. “We don’t have much time.”

*******

> [ _How do we know you can be trusted? Where are you bridging us?_ ]

Optical ridges furrowed in a narrowed glare as she read the new transmission, while scarred lip plates pursed in contemplation. Eyeing the lower deck Chromia simply nodded. Whether it was the Nova Council luring them into a trap or not they didn’t have much time for debating. All they could do was hope the Council hadn’t become wise to decrypting heavily coded Autobot frequencies in the last while.

> [ We are the Alliance. Trust is a two-way street. Identify yourself. We will bridge you somewhere safe, but the window to do so is closing.]

“Transmission sent,” a bot called up.

“Commander, update from the Enforcer frequencies: they’re at the Tombs,” Quickbeat shouted up to the blue femme, pulling her immediately from her thoughts. Chromia nodded for him to continue. “There’s no forced sign of entry that they’ve detected, Ma’am.”

Ridges crinkled and her optics narrowed, lip plates pursed in obvious confusion. “What do ya mean ‘no forced entry’. That’s not possible, even with high-end tech.”

“I don’t know, Ma’am. One of the Enforcers on scene said they checked the doors and didn’t find anything, not even a scratch. Same with the rest of the Tombs, and the roof!”

“And underneath? There aren’t any ol’ smugglin’ tunnels beneath left over from the war, are there?”

Quickbeat shook his helm. “No, Ma’am. I pulled up the oldest schematics we have and there aren’t any tunnels there. Some kind of old security barrier that remained in-tact through the war. It’s always been there according to the permits.”

Chromia gnawed on her lower lip in a puzzled silence, with Quickbeat not fairing any better, even Starburst and her multiple arms had paused momentarily. Neighbouring Analysts double and triple checked his findings, delving into their own research reserves to see if there was something overlooked but found nothing.

“And there’s no way someone could bridge themselves into the Tombs?” Chromia asked pointedly.

“No, Ma’am,” another Analyst, Data, piped up in Quickbeat’s place. “Just scanned the records and along with the security features that protect the Tombs below ground, there’s one built within the building as a last resort kind of defense. The shields prevent any kind of weaponry from penetrating it, blaster fire, lasers, cannons, even bombs apparently… including bridges. It blocks the electromagnetic components linked within all Cybertronian weapons, even the components of bombs are housed within electromagnetic containers of some kind. That’s why everything survived the Age of Wrath… and the war. It’s like the shields that ships use just inside a building – same premise.”

Quickbeat turned, curious. “Wait, didn’t Megatron break in though? Shields block our frames just like our weaponry.”

“He disarmed the feature. It’s all ancient tech implemented by the original Primes but, the High Council controlled it. So– ”

“Okay, _ya can continue yer little history lesson later_ ,” Chromia cut in, “Did they say if the feature was disarmed or not? That’s the only way someone could get in there.”

Quickbeat twisted back to his holoscreen and reviewed the translated script linked to the comm, slowly shaking his helm.

“Nope, shield is still up and operational. Orders are to hold in place. They’re not going to risk lowering the shield to investigate so now it’s just a waiting game.”

Chromia barely reacted. “Make sure Nightbird is in position, she should be down there by now.” Cobalt optics flicked up to the overhead screen. No new replies from the ship in question.

“Did they receive our transmission?” she barked.

“They received it but… they’re not responding, Ma’am.”

Starburst shrugged, “They’re probably just weighing the options. _Just like they all do_ …”

“Put some more pressure on them,” Chromia drawled, “Whoever they are, they’re runnin’ out of time.”

*******

“If we take our chances with these – _Alliance mecha_ – we have a greater chance of safety than if we stay,” Windblade said, crossing her arms in front of her chassis. “We can’t risk being detected by the patrol. Besides, our fuel isn’t looking like it’ll hold up in a chase.”

“But they could also be, yenno, _lying_ – ” Sideswipe chided.

Strongarm rolled her optics, “Well what do you suggest then?”

“I suggest we hit it in high gear and get the frag out of here. Before things get any worse!” he exclaimed. Grimlock nodded in approval. Cut the losses and ditch, it was a lose-lose situation.

“What about Optimus?” Ratchet pressed, “I still haven’t made contact. Primus knows what would happen if the Council got a hold of him…” he let his voice trail off weakly. No one had thought about that, and another uncomfortable silence befell them, save for the nagging pings of another decrypted transmission.

> [ _Identify yourselves or our offer is off the table._ _Immediate response requested_. ]

“Oh great, they’re smoking us out. _Wonderful_ ,” Sideswipe snarked.

“Bee, the patrol will be within range any minute. We have to do something– ” Windblade insisted.

Grimlock peered out a nearby porthole nervously. “We’re like sitting Sharkticons out here! They can spot us a klik away.”

“The patrol is three minutes out– ” Strongarm called over worriedly.

“Okay, everyone just… _calm down_ ,” Bumblebee pleaded, rubbing at his chinplate thoughtfully. They were already out of options, and now, almost out of time. Optics shot over to Ratchet who oscillated between personal comm and ship transmission in an attempt to reach Optimus. They couldn't risk waiting out in the open any longer, and while it was a risk to trust the Alliance – whoever they were – it was the only option where they stood a fighting chance. With a long harsh ex-vent his dimmed gaze and grim expression found its way to Windblade.

“Send them identification and request an immediate bridge to our location.”

Ratchet took a forceful step forwards towards the former Scout. “What about Optimus?” he urged, “We can’t just leave him down there!”

“If we stay he’ll be left down there when the patrol takes us in,” Bumblebee shot back. “Once the patrol passes through the area we can request a bridge back, or bridge Optimus from there. He’s protected in the Tombs for now. Our priority now is getting the ship to safety. We don’t have any other options.”

The two mechs shared a long, pained look with the CMO conceding after a beat. A near-silent ventilation whistled from aged chestplates and he nodded. Subdued and solemn.

“Two minutes until the patrol is within range,” Strongarm called up, voice trembling as an eerie hush befell the command deck. All of them thinking the very same thought: where was the bridge?

Bumblebee’s gaze went between Windblade and the main screen, ridges furrowed in obvious concern.

“Did they get our reply?”

“They should’ve…” the Camien bit her lower lip plate, typing rapidly into the keypad. “They cut the transmission line!” she gasped. The team collectively jolted.

“That’s it– ” Sideswipe threw his arms up, “We’re done for!”

Drift lowered himself heavily on a nearby chair. “We didn’t answer them quick enough… They rescinded the offer.”

“No… no, they couldn't have. We still have time!” Bumblebee grimaced.

“ _One minute_ – ” Strongarm gulped, watching the countdown on her screen.

Silence. All optics went to the portholes, waiting for the patrol’s inevitable crest over the horizon. Time had expired.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CHROMIA!!! (And Prowl, LOL). Hoooooo boy, I was so excited to finally introduce her in the storyline, as well as another easter egg character for those of you who've followed G1. Did you catch it? ;)
> 
> Anyways, hope you enjoyed this chapter. Comment below and let me know! Thoughts? Theories? I read them all. Make sure to follow, bookmark, kudos, and stay tuned...


	7. Retrieval

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hellloooooooo lovelies! This chapter was slightly delayed with my overwhelming obsession with WFC: Siege that dropped on Netflix this week. No spoilers but..... OH MY GOD. If you haven't watched already I highly recommend it! Siege leans into a darker, grittier, and more mature-themed tone than other TF series have (which reminded me of my fic's undertones, and probably why I liked it so much, lol). 2020 is the year of angst I guess 8)
> 
> Anyways! Hope you enjoy this chapter, it's fast-paced and I had a lot of fun writing it. Chapter 8 is in the final stages of writing then onwards to editing, so expect that puppy soon! As a quick reminder here's communication punctuation breakdown below:
> 
> > [ Text Comm/Message ]
> 
> :: Audio/Voice Comm ::
> 
> CHAPTER TRACK: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sURsD_zgOD0
> 
> Remember to follow, fave, and comment below! I always look forward to reading what you all have to say and love to hear all of your different theories and thoughts! A lot of my writing is fuelled by feedback, so keep it up! :3 xoxo

“ _Punch it!_ ”

The pilot sprang into action at her command. Yanking the lever down the ship launched wildly into the portal bridge ahead of them, with a speed so ferocious it forced both frames into the padded backs of the chairs beneath the invisible weight. In a blink of an optic the transport exited the bridge and the pilot eased on the ignition, dropping the ship to a manageable pace much to both of their delight. He and the femme accompanying on the mission ventilated heavily, finally able to cycle air now that the force of gravity had lifted.

The pilot – a Vehicon that had since taken to its own unique paint scheme – straightened, flipping switches and turning dials in a controlled frenzy. In no time he earned a pneumatic hiss from the transport, the whirring engine thankful to be idle after such a rapid takeoff.

“This is as close as I can get us. It’s now or never!” he called back, steering the ship within range of the Cybertronian patrol.

The minty femme slapped a button to the side, grinning dangerously, “ _Copy_.”

Immediately, the circular cut of metal she stood on lifted from the ground while the exit hatch hissed some short distance above her helm. Interlocked metal plates cleared a pathway as she rose through the several protective layers, eyeing each mechanism while they passed until the final hatch leading to the outskirts of space came to view. Once clear of the thick canopy the platform locked in place and her pedes magnetized immediately to the surface to counteract the weightlessness of zero gravity.

Optics locked onto the target and in a flash the prized long-range rifle strapped to her backplates slung into position; a maneuver she’d executed almost as many times as her spark had pulsated. By now, the rifle could practically be considered an extension of her frame. With the viewfinder against her optic each servo found its habitual hold, one coiled tight around the extended rail while the other clasped the grip. Vents expelled a steadying cycle of air while she took aim in the span of a nanosecond. Mint-green lip plates smiled, skinny digit hovering over the trigger. They were caught in her crosshairs, and she had never missed a shot.

“ _Smile, slaggers_.”

*******

_Meanwhile, on the patrol ship..._

“Hey, doesn’t that kinda look like a– ” Was about as much as the navigator could get out before both he and the pilot were silenced by the blinding light. Optics squinted against the violent whirlpool of colours, each raising a servo to assist in blocking it out. Without warning the vortex spat out a mysterious shadow at close range, barreling towards them with a speed that nearly broke the sound barrier.

“ _Primus!_ ” the pilot blurted, steering the ship on an awkward angle to avoid the near impending collision. Both mecha bristled awaiting impact, and when it never came peeked back out the front window.

“Who the Pit are these bots?! Pirates or something?” he wheezed, nerves shot from the evasive maneuver.

“I dunno, maybe… I’ve never seen them on this route before! ”

Suddenly, a much smaller figure rose from the back quarter of the shadowy transport, taking to a position immediately recognized to be tactical. They could just barely catch the glint of narrowed optics across the slight divide, but the silhouette of the long range rifle was unmistakeable – and pointed right at them.

“ _Oh slag_ – ”

“PULL UP! PULL UP!” the navigator shrieked.

Trying his best to comply the pilot yanked at the controls, but it was too late. Warning alarms sounded from one, piercing their audials.

“Frag, shields are down!”

“Well – _put them back up!_ ”

The navigator tapped desperately at the controls, “I can’t – they’re not responding!”

A dull clank sounded from outside the metallic walls, and both paused, optical ridges furrowed in obvious question. What was that? Widened optics met for a fraction of a second, the two mecha petrified in place. All at once the screens inside the cockpit flashed and fizzled violently in the wake of the powerful EMP device that had struck their ship. Miniature bursts of lightning danced across the screens, controls, and crackled from the internal panels. The two mechs yelled, arms lifting to protect themselves against the violent electrical bursts rupturing from the seams of the ship.

Then, stillness.

The cockpit had since been swallowed by darkness, the only light source coming from their optics, biolights, and the partial glow of Cybertron to their side. Sitting ducks at the mercy of the other transport, whoever or whatever they were. Both young patrols gaped in horror, all training and procedure completely out the window. With their ship rendered useless the other transport sped past while they floated in place, helplessly watching as they came upon another ship they hadn’t even realized to be there until just now.

*******

The nose of the patrol ship pierced the edge of the moon inch by inch, silhouetted by sunbeams reflecting off the surface, and Cybertron painted in the background farther behind. The entire team stilled in place, optics locked onto the small vessel as it came to full view, casting its ominous shadow over their large windscreen. Before any of them could even think of reacting a sudden space bridge burst through the darkness ahead of them, and an unknown transport shrieked from the colourful bowels en route to the patrol ship like a bat out of hell.

“ _No way_ …” Grimlock vented in equal parts disbelief and astonishment.

“Is – Is that them?” Sideswipe dared to ask, posing the question to the room rather than any bot in particular.

Bumblebee opened his mouth to respond but before the words could be articulated they each jolted in place as a shot fired from the top of the unknown transport. Clear as day they saw the bright flash from the end of what looked to be a long-range rifle, and the recoil the slim blacked-out figure absorbed in its wake. The entire team watched on in a partial trance at the lightning strikes from the concentrated EMP consume the patrol ship violently. The front guiding lights and those in the flight deck flickered spastically then were out entirely, while the nose of the ship downturned on a slight tilt. Inoperable in mere seconds.

Breaking the silence Strongarm snorted, “Well, that’s one way to deal with them…”

The momentary levity lasted only a spark pulse before the figure disappeared back into the transport and it barrelled down towards them at the same high speed as before.

“Slag, SLAG!” Sideswipe choked.

Fixit spun wildly in place, “They’re going to _a smack_ – _a fact_ – ATTACK us!”

“Battle stations!” Bumblebee commanded, fast and loud above warning sirens that had in that moment blared to life.

Everyone on the deck scrambled to their places, only just now realizing in the dazed stupor of watching the patrol and then its attack they’d meandered from their stations. Already, the attacking transport had lessened the marginal divide and swung to stop a short distance ahead of them. Back thrusters aimed directly to the Bee Team’s windscreen.

“Shields are down!” Windblade called up, frantically tapping at her controls. “They’re not coming back online– ”

Drift cut in hurriedly, “I can’t get a reading from the piloting controls either. The EMP blast must’ve jumped the patrol and short circuited some of our systems too.”

Ratchet and Bumblebee shared a look, ending just as promptly with the CMO returning to hail Optimus over the frequencies in futile effort to contact him.

“They’re jamming our comm signals– ” he barked angrily, trying again on his personal frequency to no avail.

Bee hardly registered the words, optics widening as they stared out to the idling thrusters some few hundred yards away. Metallic port covers spiralled into their in-lined housings, revealing what he could only assume to be laser cannons.

“GET DOWN!” Bumblebee shouted, leaping to cover Ratchet from the gunfire who yelped as they both tumbled to the ground in a heap.

The rest of the team ducked behind their stations, anticipating heavy laser fire that surprisingly never came. Instead, two large clamps shot from the uncovered housings, locking onto their ship with heavy clanks. The force jolted each frame in place harshly, earning a chorus of groans. Peeking up from the covered positions all that could be seen was the glow of thrusters for a brief moment. As before, without warning, the tethered transport suddenly rocketed towards the awaiting bridge, jerking their ship violently forwards on a wild high-speed ride.

Another round of startled gasps and screams echoed through the flight deck, along with the pneumatic whine of locked joints attempting to stay upright. That battle was quickly lost. Most were able to brace themselves in a slightly crouched yet now dangling position, but Fixit, Bumblebee, and Ratchet were unfortunate enough to slide backwards by way of inertia. The force of their current velocity too great to peel themselves from the back wall, and thus, were glued in place.

“Everyone, hang on!” Bumblebee grunted.

“Yeah, kinda already on it!” Sideswipe called back, clutching his console with a death grip.

Bumblebee’s optics managed to pry open though however barely, cerulean hues squinting long enough to watch as the blinding pinwheel of aquamarine, violet, and turquoise swallowed them whole with no sign as to where they were going. Somehow, the lead ship picked up the pace, exerting a heavier force on their frames and claiming a round of gasps and screams from the team. It was then their vision filled with nothing but bright, infinite white.

*******

:: Moon Patrol 1 to Base. We’re under attack with a potential civilian ship in danger. I repeat, we’re under attack! Over– ::

:: _This is Base. Under attack by who? Over._ ::

The two mechs looked at each other incredulously by the communicator’s casual, even vaguely disinterested tone. Typical.

:: We’re not sure… they appear to be uh… :: the navigators voice trailed off weakly, trying to discern what to say. Looking over to the pilot the other mech could only shrug, as if he knew what the frag was going on.

:: They’re uh… pirates of some sort? Over– ::

Silence.

:: … _Pirates?_ :: A beat. :: _Moon Patrol 1 can you provide a positive ID for the ship? Over._ ::

Again, the two mechs shared a look but their attentions were quickly captured by the shadows passing in front of them. Both mouths gaped open, watching as the apparent pirate transport towed the other unknown ship through the bridge at a blistering speed. Both vessels disappeared into the brilliant lights a nanosecond before it collapsed in on itself, any and all traces to the bridge’s formation wiped from existence in the blink of an optic.

:: _Moon Patrol 1? Come in. Moon Patrol 1, do you copy? Over._ ::

Neither mech made a move to answer, gazes instead meeting in a shared stunned silence.

*******

 _On Cybertron..._

The internal chronometer continued to ring through his audials at an annoyingly high pitch, further darkening the already bitter mood. Optimus silenced it with a low huff, still seated in place beside Elita’s helmet display. He hadn’t moved from the spot since first taking it, and his joints made it abundantly clear the time to leave had arrived – as if the audial piercing alarm hadn’t been enough incentive. Solemnly, the Prime shifted then winced at a particularly loud crack from his spinal column running up the length’s entirety. It felt just about as pleasant as it sounded unfortunately.

“At least you were spared suffering the ailments of old age,” Optimus muttered wryly, glancing over a crimson shoulder pauldron to the fuchsia helmet. Silence. Silver lip plates dared to form a hint of a grin but couldn’t bring themselves to complete the action, instead, they kept to the downturned frown that had long since plastered itself permanently on his fascia. Vents expelled a quiet sigh and he leaned forwards, trailing the tip of his digit over the icy cold metal one last time. Dimmed cyan optics followed the wandering path, mesmerized and mournful.

“We will be together again soon, Elita. You need only wait for me a short while more…” he trailed off.

Pausing momentarily his gaze lifted to her towering mural, tracing the carved lines outlining her fascia and form reverently with his optics. Those very words had been said once before, and Optimus wondered if they could even be believed or if she’d consider it another empty promise.

“Know it is not lost on me the irony that once again I ask the very same of you as I did before… but this time I _will_ keep my promise to you – such is now merely an inevitability…”

Cyan hues fell from the mural to her helmet, flickering over the dents and scratches marring the frigid metal. He swallowed against the knot trapped in his intake, feeling the familiar sting of coolant collecting in his optics, but the tears never fell.

“ _I love you_ ,” the Prime whispered, placing a delicate kiss to her forecrest.

Somewhere, deep in the inner workings of his being he knew the words reached her; even in the great beyond. It brought momentary comfort despite the bittersweet undertone tinged in his every action. Pulling away, the crimson mech revelled in the familiar touch a while more until his digit’s journey begrudgingly came to completion, cresting at the bottom edge where her chin once presided then fell away until she was once again out of reach. Still, Optimus looked on, not knowing what much else he expected to see. Beneath his chassis his spark ached with an emptiness he thought he’d long since been accustomed to, yet had grown more prevalent and miserable in the past hour at the Tombs.

Before more could be said, thought, or felt the internal alarm burst to life once more, provoking the simmering agitation seeded deep within the Prime. Unlike before he complied, slowly pulling himself to stand with an unwanted chorus of cracking joints. Optimus knew that when he turned to walk away if he allowed his optics a final glance he would never leave, just as had been the case when he left Elita on Cybertron the first time. So, when he raised the hood of the cloak over his helm melancholic cyan hues wrenched themselves away, staring ahead despite every instinct fighting against such. Another regret that haunted his memories, likely to follow him to the grave and coincidentally had done just that given his current surroundings.

In his helm Optimus counted the number of pedefalls that carried him from the landing to the far end of the room where he had entered, and beyond to the entrance of the Tombs. It kept his processors busy on something other than wallowing on all that he walked away from; all that he yet again left behind. Eventually, he stopped at the gold gilded doors and the inclination to send a comm to Ratchet to request a bridge briefly filled his consciousness. Such had been the agreement, and, if Ratchet could hone the coordinates to be as close to the Tombs as possible – sparing him the long walk – that was a bonus. Optimus had grown too tired for the lengthy trek, emotionally and mentally drained for his time spent here.

Hailing the frequency, he did his best to mask the emotional rollercoaster currently grappling his spark. Grief had settled into aged systems like a dense fog and was something he anticipated struggling through for a long, long time. While he had every intention of interrogating Ratchet to see just how much of Elita’s death he was aware of, Optimus had never been one to broadcast his emotions so openly. Private by nature, time and war had worked hand in hand to make him even more tight-lipped about whatever burdens plagued his spark and processors. Sadly, Elita had been the main – and practically only – outlet for therapy and advice; to which they both found mutual benefit. After the Exodus? Only a select few caught glimpses here and there, primarily Ratchet, but anything relating to Elita had gradually become more secretive. Locked away for his mind to unriddle as he lay awake in berth, or while trapped under smouldering remains of their base on Earth. It simply caused too much pain to speak of out loud.

Clearing his vocoder, low crackling baritone came across dreary and depressed despite his best efforts, and Optimus mentally chastised himself. Digits rose to rub at weary optics while he tried to mask the dead giveaway laced in his voice: the venture had been anything but inspiring.

:: Ratchet, please send a bridge to my coordinates – I am finished here. ::

Silence and static. Audials flicked beneath the hood and optics squinted. He could’ve sworn he heard a voice on the other end for a glimpse of a second.

:: Ratchet? There appears to be interference… can you read me? ::

The static intensified then cleared just enough to let a voice through, only it wasn’t the CMO’s; a younger femme from the sounds of it, one he didn’t recognize at all. What was even more chilling was the cryptic message that followed.

:: _You are in grave danger once you step outside the doors_. _There’s an army of Cybertronian Enforcers waiting to ambush you, and take you to the Nova Council._ ::

Optimus’s optical ridges furrowed and denta gritted behind a hardened jawline. That was certainly news to him; news he hardly trusted. Eons of warfare made him cautious by nature.

:: Who are you? What have you done with Ratchet? ::

More static. The voice modulated briefly as the signal came in and out.

:: _Your friends are safe. They were intercepted by a Cybertronian patrol but our team was able to bridge them to our base before they could be taken in._ ::

Static. The frequency oscillated between a strong and weak signal, setting Optimus on immediate edge. Suspicions now ran on high, and in his silence the femme continued.

:: _I’m here to help you. I can take you to your friends – but it’s not going to be easy. You must do exactly as I say or they’ll kill us both._ ::

Optimus shook his helm despite her not being able to see.

:: You expect me to trust you so easily? ::

:: _I don’t. But you have to if you want to get out of this alive._ ::

The Prime contemplated a moment, pacing back and forth while listening for any signs of activity on the other side of the door, barely catching commands and voices outside amidst the static in his audials. There was truth to the warning, that much had been deduced. But, the larger question he wrestled was who was this femme? Why did she want to help him? Most importantly: was it merely a ruse?

Denta bit down on his chaffed lower lip component, finding resolve and committing himself to blind faith. Again, deep within his spark a voice whispered in assurance. Everything would be okay, or so, he hoped. Coming to stop in front of the doors cyan hues narrowed while staring up at their intricate details and following the pathway down to where they became optic level. There was no going back, that much he had accepted.

:: I am listening. ::

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HOOOOO BOI. Idk about any of you but this chapter got my heart racing a bit LOL. But, aside from heart palpitations we got a nice lil' easter egg character who I'm excited to write more of in the next chapter... who caught it? ;)
> 
> Anyways, hope you enjoyed this chapter, comment below and let me know! Thoughts? Theories? Feels? I read them all. Make sure to follow, bookmark, kudos, and stay tuned...


	8. Familiar Faces

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heyyyyyyyooooo~ Me? With two fic updates in the same month? Shocking, I know. Truly, this comes from me being too impatient to wait any longer and wanting to throw out new content rather than have it sit and collect dust in the my WIP doc. The next chapter is well underway and I'm hoping to have it ready for posting soon! Also, I went back and added the note but for all of you reading this chapter... in my head I picture everything taking place in the TFP world (how everything looks, how the characters look, etc.) rather than the RID2015 style. I should've specified earlier lol but totally forgot, and never thought the TFP/RID2015 Hybrid label could be potentially confusing. So yeah! Not sure what everyone's bias was or what style your brain gravitated to but TFP is the style I'm picturing while writing. (Of course it's up for any interpretation, let your imagination soar!)
> 
> Anyways, I hope you enjoy this chapter, it was a lot of fun to start and play around with other characters and introduce new ones. One in particular I'm especially excited to add to the roster. The chapter track for this puppy really only spoke to a single moment, when the team sees their new destination. So, if you want to read with the extra gravitas in the background I highly suggest it!
> 
> CHAPTER TRACK: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sURsD_zgOD0
> 
> Remember to follow, fave, and comment below! I always look forward to reading what you all have to say and love to hear all of your different theories and thoughts! A lot of my writing is fuelled by feedback, so keep it up! :3 xoxo

Blinking through the blinding white of the space bridge Bumblebee fought against the force of gravity triggered by their current velocity. Peeling himself from the back wall he staggered forwards as best he could to the command module, legs quivering and frame threatening to fly backwards at the slightest bobble.

“Why are they going so fast through – _ngh_ – the bridge?” Windblade choked, frame pressed flat against the station behind her. The rest of the team hadn’t fared much better. With the travelling speed too great to fight against they had no choice but to remain pinned in place.

“I don’t know–” Bumblebee grunted, squinting into the swirling lights painting the entire cabin stark white, like a fallen sheet of fresh snow. “Just hang on!”

Loud whines and hisses echoed in every direction. The hull creaked at a deafening volume above the multiple warnings and alarms ringing overhead. Ratchet bristled, optics darting about the cabin to assess the ensuing damage. A feat easier said than done given the overwhelming brightness flooding the deck and washing it out. Luckily, sounds were all the CMO needed to draw a conclusion.

“It’s too much for the hull to handle! If they accelerate anymore this entire ship will snap in two!”

Sideswipe sputtered, “ _Snap in two?!_ I thought you said this thing was built to – _ngh_ – built to last deep space!”

“Deep space, yes– ” Ratchet yelled back, then wheezed. “Intense speed, _through a space bridge no less_ , is another matter entirely!”

As if on cue the ship bucked violently through increasing turbulence, throwing it and its passengers about wildly from side to side as though they were a dinghy caught in a hurricane. Collective gasps erupted in response while the sickening whines of the surrounding metallic plates buckling beneath the pressure pierced their audials. The ship’s limit had been reached.

“We have to do something!” Ratchet groaned, feeling the tremendous weight press against his chassis, making it hard to ventilate.

“ _Windblade, Drift_ – ” Bumblebee shouted, “Reverse thrusters, full power!”

“We can’t! All systems are down!” the Camien yelled back.

Going to give another order the sudden tremor that rippled through the cabin cut him off, and the ship dipped sharply in response, doing little to ease the unified anxiety. Bumblebee grimaced and stared ahead despite the burning in his optics, like gazing into the exposed core of a star. Without warning the speed decreased exponentially as they and the tethered transport leading them dropped out of the space bridge. Startled yelps blurted from most every vocoder as frames flung forwards at the sudden deacceleration, slamming roughly into consoles, modules, and unfortunately in Ratchet and Fixit’s case, flung forwards across the cabin’s deck.

Large cerulean optics blinked through the sunspots caught in his vision, finally regulating haggard ventilations enough to return to a regular, though weak, vocal pattern.

“Is everyone alright?” Bumblebee rasped, earning a chorus of garbled replies each in a different state of exhaustion, relief, and pain. The yellow mech took it as a positive sign, mostly. Groans from the hull accompanied the weary crew on deck, recovering from the tremendous stress exerted during the hellish journey.

“Does… anyone know… where we are?” Grimlock panted, unmoving from the draped position over his work module.

Helms weakly turned to peer out the frontal windscreen at whatever parts of their surroundings were visible behind the much larger transport. Silence. Ratchet muttered under his breath and pulled himself to stand wearily, azure hues narrowed at the sight before them; a familiar shadow. With their current heading, whatever celestial body was in front of them proved intimidating in size, its dark mass swallowing most of the surrounding light. But, beyond the western curve sunlight peeked from behind, as did a cluster of stars.

Sideswipe scratched his helm, “So uh, where are we…? Some new planet?”

“No,” Ratchet vented, “That’s not a planet…”

“That’s Cybertron’s second moon…” Bumblebee finished, pulling from the command module for a better look.

Windblade cocked her helm to the side, still staring out the windscreen. “How can you tell from this angle?” Really, they were so close it didn’t look like anything other than a giant black void.

“I know all of our constellations. _Look_ ,” he pointed, “That’s the top of the Amalgamous formation–”

“Great, so after _all of that_ they bridged us to Cybertron’s other moon? They didn’t even take us to a base?! The patrols will _never_ think to look for us here, I feel safer already…” Sideswipe grumbled.

Strongarm slowly nodded her helm, “I can’t believe I’m saying this but… I agree with Sideswipe. Shouldn’t we be worried? I mean, I thought they were going to bridge us _away_ from Cybertron? There’s still patrols in the area, and probably reinforcements since they attacked the other one…” her gaze wandered over to Bumblebee apprehensively.

“I, too, agree,” Drift hummed, stroking his metallic beard, “Why go through all the trouble of bridging us – and at such alarming speeds – only to stop a short distance away?” It was a lot of wasted energy in his opinion.

“ _Some Alliance_ ,” Sideswipe scoffed, “No transport vessel. No base…”

Windblade pursed her lip plates, “Maybe they were forced out of the bridge early for an emergency?”

“From what I know about space bridge transportation that wouldn’t have been possible. Even if we dropped off early our distance would’ve been planets away,” Ratchet grimaced, “This location was deliberate.”

A beat. Fixit typed at his module in an attempt to locate an energy signal, their systems however refused to function properly; a lingering side-effect of the EMP blast. Bumblebee’s mouthplates pressed into a thin line, optical ridges knotted in the famous way Optimus’ would whenever he too was puzzled. Ratchet took notice and bit back a soft smile, it hadn’t been the first time he’d witnessed such an expression cross the former Scout’s fascia, and likely, wouldn’t be the last. An inherited mannerism from mentor to mentee. Before a guess could be wagered the lead transport slowed to idle, sending a small burn blast back to halt Ratchet’s ship from smacking into their rear. Now, both simply floated in place despite being out in the open, painting themselves as an easy target for any Cybertronian patrols in the area.

“They’re stopping – why are they stopping?” Sideswipe piped up, voicing the thought on everyone’s processor, despite the obvious.

Strongarm rolled her optics, “How are any of us supposed to know, genius?”

“Hey, I was just asking!”

Windblade turned at her station to face Bumblebee while Strongarm and Sideswipe squabbled at the front of the cabin.

“Is it possible another transport is coming…?”

The former Scout and CMO shared a look. Not likely.

“Are our systems back online yet?” Bumblebee asked, glancing over to Fixit and Drift. Both shook their helms. “ _Fantastic_ …” he muttered under his breath.

The dimmed gaze fell to his keypad, helm dipping forwards in exasperation. _Now what?_ They were in no better position than they were moments ago, in fact, they were worse off considering their operational systems had ceased working, leaving them at the mercy of whomever navigated the transport theirs had since been latched to.

What would Optimus do? The words cycled through the young mech’s processors like a faulty record, unhelpful and irritating. Bumblebee furled his servos at the sides of the keypad, tension ebbing from his EM Field carelessly. The rest of the team meanwhile went on as per usual. Strongarm and Sideswipe bickering with Grimlock somehow caught in between. Fixit, Drift and Windblade manned their inoperable stations, staring at the blank consoles hopelessly. Ratchet waited in the wings, trying to contact Optimus’ comm only to be met with interference. Bumblebee didn’t move, racking his processors for an answer that never came.

The helpless limbo lasted only a nanosecond longer until Grimlock glanced out the windscreen, taking a tentative step back.

“Uh, guys – _what’s_ _that…_ ” he called out, garnering everyone’s instantaneous attention.

Each set of optics bugged from their casings while jaws fell agape, no one daring to make even the slightest move. Frozen in place they watched the phenomena outside the windscreen in wordlessly.

Translucent Energon-blue honeycombs flickered ahead in all directions for miles in an unbreakable grid; a cloaking shield of impressive scale, and larger than anything any of them had ever encountered. Just as quickly as they had made their presence known a cluster ahead of the leading transport offlined entirely, just wide enough to grant them passage. The entryway they had been waiting for all along. Without hesitation the transport roared back to life, tugging their ship forwards by proxy at a quick, but manageable, rate. The Bee Team stilled, watching on in disbelief as they passed through the electric grid. What lay on the other side of the shields, though, was enough to stop their spark pulses.

“ _Holy... slag..._ ” Sideswipe vented.

Bumblebee pulled from his command module, wandering towards the front of the cabin as though he were in a trance, large optics locked dead ahead. The rest of the team followed suit, filing to the front for a better look themselves. There, concealed in the looming shadow of Cybertron’s second moon lay the largest lunar station in all of history. Handfuls of small repair vessels orbited the colossal mass the same way a falcon would a mountain in a comedic mismatch of proportions if ever there was one. Lights in a mix of outer deck beams and glowing portholes, windscreens, and the like speckled the surface at varying angles and intensities. Had they not known better it could’ve been assumed to simply be a cluster of stars backlit by the dark side of the moon. The titanic size wasn’t the only defining feature of the station though, its staggering construction was enough to make even the most seasoned of optics blink in disbelief.

Multiple stacked decks formed a cylindrical centre several stories high. Each level sported protruding launch bays and bridges to smaller additions that jutted out on strange angles, similar in fashion to the branches of an old tree. Every inch of the station was comprised of different kinds of metal, blanketing the entire construction with unique designs, shapes, edges, and colour schemes. A melting pot of old vessels, transports, inter-planetary materials, and Primus knew what else. Without doubt it was a true marvel of engineering; a behemoth of a structure as intimidating as it was mesmerizing.

“What was it you were saying about them not having a base?” Strongarm clucked.

Sideswipe’s optics remained glued on the station, voice adrift in a higher, dream-like register that practically begged not to interrupt his sparkling-like gawking.

“ _Can it_ …”

The closer they approached the larger the base came to be, growing steadily while they tugged behind the transport that had once seemed so large, but now could be considered a speck of dust on a windscreen in crude size comparison. Dim lights sporadically layered along the infrastructure lit their course while spark flashes from welding torches erupted like miniature orange fireworks. Coming within range of what they presumed to be a refuelling bay the mecha operating repair ships, and free walking on the magnetized surface, all seemed to pause to watch them pass. Their frames were nothing more than hidden figures peeking out from the crooks and crannies to one of many additions, illuminated unevenly overhead by a smattering of external and internal lighting fixtures. Really, it only brought to view the bizarre yet astounding architecture.

Bumblebee felt his neck joints craned from the strange angle he’d taken while attempting to capture the base in its entirety, hanging onto every new sight like an awestruck youngling until it had strayed too far from view. Soon, though, the majesty of the base disappeared as they entered into a refuel bay, immediately plopping onto the ground in a jarring heap with the cruel return of gravity. The group yelped and groaned, tumbling backwards or smacking their helms into thick panes of glass from the abrupt displacement.

“Would it kill them to give us a warning?” Sideswipe sneered, rubbing at his forehelm and what he assumed to be the makings of an indentation from impact.

“That’s the least of our worries,” Ratchet muttered, peeking out to the bustling bay from a corner. “We still don’t know who these mecha are, or what they intend to do with us.”

Bumblebee nodded, straightening from bent knee joints. “Everyone remain on high alert. These bots could be– ”

“ _Unknown vessel_ – ” a tinny voice boomed from outside, addressing them through the use of an audio amplifier calmly but no less commanding.

Each took to ducking behind the windscreen, peeking up over the ledge despite being unable to see where the bot was positioned outside their ship.

“Exit the ship slowly and with any and all appendages where we can see them! If you have any weapons on board leave them in their housings. If you have any weapons on your frame disarm them now. If you come out of the ship with active weapons we will not hesitate to shoot!” the voice dictated loudly and succinctly. This had been a script and operation well since rehearsed.

Bumblebee’s audials flicked, lip plates pursing ever so slightly. He could’ve sworn the voice sounded familiar. Optics shot over to Ratchet who already stared back. He recognized it to.

“Was that…?” the former Scout let his voice trail off, lowering despite having no real reason to.

Ratchet shrugged, voice dropping to a barely audible volume in turn, “It couldn’t be, could it?”

“Are they gonna hurt us?” Grimlock whispered, servos fidgeting nervously in front of his chassis.

“ _Why are we whispering?_ ” Sideswipe chimed in, his voice a heavy hush.

“Exit the vessel, now! Slowly, and with any and all appendages where we can see them! If you do not comply, we will come and forcefully remove you!” the voice repeated.

Bumblebee straightened immediately; he knew that voice. Still crouched, he scurried to the back of the cabin, waving for the rest of the team to follow. They reluctantly waited in the wings. What was the plan? They were just going to rush out unarmed into a group of mecha they didn’t know? Was he trying to get them all killed?

“Bee, what are you doing? It’s not safe!” Windblade called over, maintaining the low volume as the dictations again bubbled up outside the walls.

“They’re not going to hurt us. I know who that is. _Come on_ ,” he answered hurriedly, waving them forward again before rushing out of the cabin and into the bowels of the ship.

Ratchet pulled from his place, following in quick pursuit wordlessly. The rest of the team eyed each other, not entirely convinced but with no options to go against what they’d been told. Either they exited per the articulated demands or the mecha would storm the ship. Plus, the intrigue of Bumblebee knowing their captors was too enticing not to see play out, a morbid curiosity in need of satiating. It took all of a nanosecond for them to draw the same conclusion and bolt from their places, scampering after the CMO and former Scout.

*******

“Unknown vessel! We have a team surrounding the ship. Come out with any and all appendages where we can see them. Offline any of your weapons. While exiting the vessel verbally identify yourselves,” she repeated into the amplifier, dropping it from her mouthplates to look over the ship dully.

“Are they coming out or what?” an Eradicon sighed, silver and blue helm dipping sideways. How much longer were they expected to stand here for?

Moonracer frowned, “Maybe it’s not loud enough?” Nimble digits turned some dials on the back of the amplifier which made the Eradicon lunge towards her.

“ _Noooo, no, no, no, no_ – Any louder and my audio-receptors are going to burst.”

“Well, we can’t just blast our way in all willy nilly, Skystrike,” she protested, voice dipping to a murmur, “You know what Chromia said: _Only breach if shot upon_ …”

Skystrike let loose another sigh, helm dipping back to stare upwards at the ceiling for a collective moment. Primus, this night was going to be long, he could feel it in his wiring. Returning the helm to its regular position his servo swivelled around in silent signal for the other troops to stay on alert. A waiting game it was, though one short-lived. Not even a sparkpulse after did the back hatch of the ship give a pneumatic hiss, metallic ramp unlocking from the rear to slowly angle down towards them in compliance.

Moonracer and Skystrike shared a look. _That was easy_. The surrounding Eradicon troops stiffened from their previously relaxed positions, blasters trained on the opening ramp while it lowered. Moonracer slung her long-range rifle over her shoulder pauldron and into position, ready to take a shot if one were necessary.

“Remember the rules of engagement,” Skystrike said, peeking over to Moonracer who nodded into her viewfinder.

“ _Don’t shoot! It’s me!_ ” a mech yelled out, curls of steam from the depressurization process obscuring his frame from immediate view.

“Identify yourself!” Skystrike barked back.

“It’s me! _It’s Bumblebee!_ ” the former Scout replied, stumbling out through the clouds of steam in a bewildered rush, arms high above his helm.

“Moonie, it’s me! Don’t shoot!” he repeated, losing vibrato once realizing he faced a small platoon of multicoloured Eradicons, all with their blasters trained. He couldn’t help a doubletake. _What the frag…?_

Moonracer stared on absolutely dumbfounded, minty frame frozen in place as the rifle lowered very, very slowly; not quite believing her optics.

“ _Bee?_ ” she vented breathlessly.

It was enough to garner his attention and Bumblebee found her off to the side, petite minty frame unmistakeable even after all these years. A wide smile split across his fascia, spark pulses heightening to an almost painful rate beneath the yellow chassis.

“ _Moonie!_ ” the name sprung from his vocoder in rivalling shock. Without thinking Bumblebee started towards her, forgetting the Eradicon platoon instantly.

Moonracer pulled from her position and pushed Skystrike’s blaster down with a rushed servo, stepping out in front to place herself in the target line.

“Lower your weapons,” she sputtered, skirting closer to Bumblebee at the centre of the trained troops. “Lower your weapons! Everyone stand down! Now!”

The multi-coloured Eradicons each glanced over to Skystrike who begrudgingly followed the femme’s order, prompting the rest to do the same. They eased away as Moonracer leapt up onto the awaiting yellow frame, wrapping skinny arms around his neck cabling in a tight hug. Skystrike snorted, cocking his helm to the side. Now that he got a better look, he recognized the bot, and there was no need for them to stick around and chaperone. Waving to his team they turned towards the back of the bay, relaying an update back to Command for new orders elsewhere.

“ _Moonie, Primus_ …” Bumblebee gasped, hugging the femme even tighter, unsure if she were even real or not. It felt as though he had been greeted by a ghost, in a way he was. Moonracer had left during the second wave of the Exodus, after he, Optimus, and the others had dispatched aboard the Ark. Bumblebee didn’t even know if she had made it off the planet or if she had survived, until now.

“Bee, your voice…” she choked, pulling back in his hold as an excited but confused expression crossed her features. Multi-hued optics searched his warm cerulean gaze. Powerful waves of just about every emotion known to their kind bled from both EM Fields, intertwining seamlessly in a matter of seconds.

“I know, it’s… it’s a long story,” he chuckled, then lowered the minty frame back to the ground. Surprisingly, the two of them stood at near optic level with each other, Bumblebee maintained a half-helm above her though, much to his hidden delight.

Moonracer snorted, “ _No kiddin’_.”

Optics darted about his features, so familiar and yet so different from when they’d last seen each other. Older. The childlike features had since been grown into. Minty lip plates held a beaming yet trembling smile, arms still loosely holding onto his frame mirroring his own, neither wanting to let go. For a moment there were no words, overwhelmed and reeling from the shock as it ricocheted like lightning strikes through their wiring.

Bumblebee vented softly, regarding her just as she regarded him. Natural dark grey speckles that had littered her faceplates had since lightened, their prominence stretching only from cheekplate to cheekplate when once the entirety of her fascia had worn them. Just as he had grown into his adult frame so had she. While still petite in size the rounded accents of her helm and frame had formed more defined angles, plastered of course with scratches, dents, and scars he could only imagine the stories behind. Cherub-like fascia much slimmer as well. Mature.

“ _Moonracer? Is that you?_ ”

The two turned immediately, finding Ratchet’s tentative approach through the wafts of steam, just as spellbound as the they were.

“ _Ratchet!_ ” the femme gasped, pulling from Bumblebee to repeat the same action with the older mecha, uncaring of age and weariness. Leaping up he caught her in a tight hug, earning a startled wheeze from elder vents.

“Primus… I thought that was you, but I couldn’t believe it…” he laughed.

“Chromia said this was your ship so I volunteered. I’d hoped that you would– ”

“ _Ah-ep, bup_ – ” Ratchet yanked back in the femme’s hold, cutting her off immediately, “What did you just say?”

Azure hues shot over to Bumblebee who had since wandered closer, audials perked and optics just as wide. _Chromia?_ Chromia was here too? She was alive? Moonracer could practically read the words written on their faceplates.

“Chromia!” she chirped, wriggling free and dropping back to the ground, “Her and Prowl are Co-Commanders! She sent me here to– ”

“ _Prowl?_ ” Ratchet cut in again.

Bumblebee gaped, “I’m sorry, did you say _Prowl’s here too?”_ The crazy words coming from this femme’s mouth… One bombshell after another. Happy ones, of course, but no less startling.

“Prowl, Jazz, Mirage, Red Alert…” her voice trailed off. The CMO and former Scout could only stare blankly at each other then back to Moonracer, bewildered. Systems reeled from the overload of unexpected information, unsure how to begin processing it all. The minty femme whistled and shook her helm in the stunned silence.

“Primus, you’re both in for one hell of a reunion. We got so many bots here! Almost the whole gang is back together… at least, what’s left of us…” she paused, recapturing her giddiness. “Oh yeah! And Magnus is here too! He’s actually the– ”

“ _The one running this entire operation._ That conclusion I had surmised myself,” Ratchet snorted in mild amusement.

Moonracer dulled, “ _Bravo_.”

“ _Wait, wait, wait,_ hold up. Time out!” Bumblebee cut in, holding his servos up in a ‘T’. A beat. Large cerulean optics blinked, processors whirring at a furious pace to comprehend everything. One of many things didn’t make sense. How did everyone get here? Had they been here all along? Who else was on the station? Why were there Eradicons here? Actually–

“First off, what– what’s with the Eradicons?” he asked incredulously.

“ _Haven’t ya heard? We’re all on the same team now, lil’ Bug_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> MOONRAAAACCCEEEERRRRRRR!! Oh man, I've been waiting to finally introduce her in this fic. She's one of my sentimental faves, along with Chromia. My sweet lil' summer child. Her portrayal and depiction are in homage to a friend of mine from the RP community (deadshotdiplomacy on Tumblr) whom I love and adore. I always thought her idea of Moonie having freckles was such a cute and ingenious idea I had to keep it. So, Max, if you're reading this, shout out to you bby! ;)
> 
> Anyways, hope you enjoyed this chapter, comment below and let me know! What's going to happen next? What other bots are lurking on the station? Thoughts? Theories? Feels? I read them all. Make sure to follow, bookmark, kudos, and stay tuned... :3


	9. Homecoming

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I LIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIVE!! Sorry for going ghost on all of you, things at work really picked up and I just haven't had the time or mental capacity to get some good writing in. I also, candidly, received very hurtful anon hate regarding the fic and my abilities as a writer that really made me lose confidence in myself, my abilities, and my content. It's taken a while but I'm starting to get the confidence back, so I apologize for not posting anything in a while. Words hurt, and they really hurt me. With that said, as compensation for the dry spell, this chapter is the longest f*cking chapter thus far in the fic. I tried to split it into two parts but the flow just didn't work so... hope y'all are ready for some reading.
> 
> Not much else to say really other than I hope you like it. Lots happens in this chapter so bear with me if the pacing feels fast. Needed to move the plot along since I've teased you guys enough with them cliffhangers. On a personal note, I'm planning on escaping back home to Canada in a few weeks for the start of the holidays, so updates may be slow coming. With everything going on in the world it's really been starting to weigh on me, and a short break to gain clarity/rejuvenate the creative senses is just what I need.
> 
> CHAPTER TRACK: (First) https://youtu.be/SRK9kTXBw4Q AND (Second) https://youtu.be/Bxh1Y9sK7Tc
> 
> Remember to follow, kudos, and comment below! I always look forward to reading what you all have to say and love to hear all of your different theories and thoughts! A lot of my writing is fuelled by feedback, so keep it up! (But, please keep it positive, we're all friends here!!) :3 xoxo

“ _Haven’t ya heard? We’re all on the same team now, lil’ Bug_.”

All sets of optics, including the rest of the Bee Team still waiting in the wings, shot up past the trio to the tall cobalt frame approaching them. Chromia threw Bumblebee and Ratchet a lopsided grin, barely withholding her own gushing enthusiasm behind the cool demeanour, but some slipped out on her EM Field regardless.

“Don’t worry, ya get used to it… _kinda_ ,” she crooned, stopping an arm’s length from the two mechs, who couldn’t do anything more than simply gawk. Chromia snorted, gently slapping Ratchet’s backplates with a broadening smile.

“What’s the matter? Ya look like you’ve seen a ghost there, Ratch.”

“ _I may as well have_ – ” he grunted, snapping out of the trance to accept the offered hug as Chromia bent to meet him. Primus, he’d nearly forgotten how tall the Camien was, standing a full helm and shoulders above him, and he stood helm and shoulders above a fully-grown Bumblebee.

“Ah, don’t worry, I’m a friendly ghost,” Chromia laughed, pulling away with another slap to his backplates and looked over at Bumblebee. “Well, c’mere, you!” she boomed, scooping up the smaller mech in an even tighter embrace.

The former Scout wheezed through his smile, the flood of memories regarding not only her size but also her strength rushed back in a sparkpulse. The cobalt femme plopped him back on the ground but kept weighted servos draped over yellow shoulder pauldrons, unable to take her optics off him.

“Primus… I hardly recognized ya. Ya grown so much after all these years! Not quite a lil’ Bug anymore, hm?” her gaze darted over to Ratchet who chuckled and nodded.

“Sometimes I can hardly believe it myself,” he hummed.

“ _No kiddin’_ ,” Chromia snorted, slowly straightening. “It’s funny. I look at him and all I can see is that lil’ younglin’ runnin’ around half-transformed in the halls.”

Ratchet laughed, remembering the fond memory all too well. Bumblebee felt his fascia heat while audials flicked at the quiet snickers from behind. There was no way his team would let that particular image go anytime soon. _Thanks, Chromia_.

Speaking of which, the Camien took note of the lingering bots, nodding over to them.

“An’ who do we have here, hm? This the new crew you’re runnin’ with now?”

Bumblebee ex-vented, regaining composure despite the lingering heat in his cheekplates.

“Yeah, something like that,” he turned, waving them over, “Hey, come here!”

Again, they shared apprehensive looks amongst each other before slowly crossing to the four mecha, sizing the two unknown femmes up just as they did in turn. Bumblebee felt his plates puff proudly, servo holding out to his side as he took to introducing his team.

“Mia, Moonie, _this is my team_ ,” he beamed.

Chromia and Moonracer shared a look. Unconvinced.

“So, who’s the leader?” the minty femme asked, eyeballing Drift and Windblade, they looked like the leader type.

“I am!” Bumblebee chirped, holding his helm on a slightly upward angle. This was it, the shining moment. After all these years of being considered only a Scout, and worse in Chromia’s mind still a youngling, he would finally graduate to that upper echelon in the Autobot regime. Chromia and Moonracer, however, offered mixed reception. Chromia pressed her lip plates together to keep from laughing while Moonracer audibly snorted.

“Okay, seriously, which of you is the leader?” the minty femme replied, pointing her digits in a V towards Windblade and Drift, waggling them gently. It had to be one of them.

Bumblebee blinked, gaze going between Chromia, Ratchet – who looked to be taking too much pleasure in this – and Moonracer. Clearing his vocoder the former Scout stepped in front of the Sniper’s waggling digits.

“No, really– I’m the leader. I’m not kidding,” he insisted, “Go ahead, ask them. Ask them who formed this team,” Bumblebee beamed.

Moonracer went to take the bait but Sideswipe piped up, having gone silent too long already.

“Actually, you didn’t _form_ a team… technically.”

“Yeah,” Strongarm said, “I hate to agree but, we were all just kinda _stuck_ together.”

“Trapped is what I’d call it,” Grimlock pitched in.

Bumblebee rolled his optics, feeling Moonracer’s gaze on him again in silent but entertained judgement. The one time he needed them to cooperate and sure enough…

“Okay, fair. But you _can_ agree that I’m the one _leading_ the team, right?”

Silence and half-hearted shrugs followed, had they been on Earth they would’ve been able to hear crickets chirping. Bumblebee’s vibrato weakened. After a beat Drift cleared his vocoder.

“Yes… and no…”

“Yes and no?” Bumblebee wheezed, “Why ‘ _no_ ’? What’s with the ‘ _no_ ’?”

Windblade cut in gently, “I mean, I had the impression that you and Optimus were– ”

“ _OPTIMUS_ –” Chromia and Moonracer blurted simultaneously. All sets of optics returned to the two femmes; it was their turn for a bombshell.

“Optimus – he’s… he’s alive?” Moonracer vented in hopeful disbelief.

Chromia took a step forward, “This ain’t some kind of a prank is it? You’re serious?”

The group nodded. Moonracer and Chromia visibly stilled. Before the words could leave Bumblebee’s vocoder to explain Ratchet gasped loudly, startling them all.

“Primus, _Optimus!_ ” the CMO repeated, “He’s still in the Tombs!”

Chromia’s optics widened. So _that_ was the mecha that had tripped the alarms… Well, that was one mystery solved.

“Mia, we have to get someone down there, immediately,” Bumblebee urged, speaking in place of Ratchet who again took to hailing the Prime’s comm to no avail.

“ _Way ahead of ya_ – ” Chromia replied hurriedly, stepping back with a servo up to her audial, ready to send a comm. The retrieval mission had been drastically altered with this newfound knowledge; everything was different now.

“Moonie, get them set up in the temp recharge habs. We’ll check ‘em in tomorrow,” she ordered, already making her way to the bay’s back entrance. Bumblebee started to follow then paused, unsure what to do.

“What about Optimus?” Ratchet called over in protest.

Chromia waved him off, turning halfway to address the group while she walked.

“I’m on it,” she assured, “Don’t worry, Ratch. We’ll get him back all in one piece, I promise ya. Go get some rest, we’ll take care of things from here– ”

With that she took to a jog and barked commands over her comm, disappearing in the blink of an optic behind heavy doors at the back of the bay. The rest of the troupe stood in silence, not sure exactly what to do now. In hopes of further explanation Ratchet and Bumblebee stared over at Moonracer, who could only shrug.

“They don’t tell me anything,” the femme said weakly. Vents gave a small sigh, reclaiming the previously upbeat attitude as much as possible despite the awkwardness lingering in the air.

“Come on, I’ll show you to the habsuites,” she peeped. Taking a few small steps forward Moonracer nodded to the heavy doors Chromia had just passed through.

“How do we know Optimus is going to be okay? We should at least wait until he gets to the station. We might even be able to help…” Bumblebee pleaded, again speaking in place of Ratchet who still relentlessly pinged the Prime’s comm.

Moonracer sighed, “It’s not up to me, Bee. You heard ‘Mia. And… _look_ , they run a tight ship here. It’s just best to do what she says.” Pausing, the femme placed a skinny servo on his arm. “He’ll be okay, trust me. Extraction and retrieval _is_ kinda our specialty if you haven’t noticed,” she smiled, throwing him a cheeky wink for extra measure.

It did little to ease Ratchet and Bumblebee but there was nothing that could be done. Just because Chromia and Prowl were here didn’t mean they could go breaking the chain of command, even if said chain was comprised of old friends. Besides, Moonracer had already eluded to Ultra Magnus being the Supreme Commander. Actually, it was the least surprising revelation of the night. With him at the helm it was no wonder they ran a tight ship; the thought alone was enough incentive to comply. Magnus had never been known particularly as lenient when it came to protocol, that much they knew all too well from Team Prime’s stint on Earth. Bee and Ratchet shared a look that said just that, conceding with dual sighs and trudging forwards alongside Moonracer. The rest of the team followed suit, quietly murmuring amongst themselves. At least, mostly.

“So… you guys got any mid-grade in this place?” Sideswipe piped up.

Moonracer snorted, peering over a shoulder pauldron with a smirk. “Lemme guess, you wanna make a pit stop before going to the habsuites?”

Sideswipe stretched, “ _Bingo_.”

Turning back to Bumblebee the minty femme cocked her helm on an angle, passing through the threshold as the large doors slid into their wall casings.

“I think we can make that happen.”

*******

“Captain, how much longer are we going to wait out here for?” the Enforcer asked, “Can’t the Council give us permission to flush ‘em out or something?”

The Captain in question turned, aquamarine optics narrowed in a perpetual scowl.

“Whether we like it or not the Tombs are holy grounds. We don’t have the authority to enter the building, nor do we have permission to bring harm to it,” he rasped.

“Even when there’s some thieving piece of slag inside?” the Enforcer countered, unconvinced by the orders. “Captain, we can’t just let them have free reign like this! For all we know they could be ransacking the graves, or desecrating remains– ”

“Our orders are to hold in place until the target makes themselves known,” the Captain bit back, patience wearing thin. “The Nova Council was very clear: no one is to set pede on that landing unless there is tangible probable cause,” he paused, inching closer to loom over the Officer, optics burning into the mandated yellow visor. “You want to go against their words? _Be my guest_.”

The Enforcement Officer shivered, gaze averting immediately at the loose threat. No one defied the orders of the Nova Council. Fear was the greatest motivator both with criminals and Enforcers alike; fear of the governed and fear of the repercussions. Many disagreed with the totalitarian approach to leading their world into the Age of Peace, but the results were enough to silence any from speaking out. Fear worked. Everything and everyone had fallen into place, their world had returned to order, even if the harmony was a façade. Either way, it was better than war.

Slinking back into position the Officer said nothing more, a faceless servant in a growing crowd of other Enforcers and the newly instated militant force; Peacekeepers. Ever since the exiling of the Autobots, who had once comprised the entirety of Cybertron’s military might, the Nova Council had taken to a rebranding of the service both in badge and name. Autobot and Decepticon insignias had been outlawed in one of the first major upheaval acts set forth by the Council, labelled as terrorist propaganda and considered as a threat against the new-forming nation. Not long after came the swift order that all Decepticons and Autobots were henceforth classified as war criminals, dangers to a society still in shambles and banished off-world for their crimes against Cybertron. Any citizen affiliated or associating themselves with either faction, even passively, were incarcerated, or worse – _reformatted_ – but, those were only rumours…

“Captain!” another Enforcer called over, garnering the steely-eyed superior’s attention with a silent acknowledging nod. They continued without hesitation. “We’re picking up movement on the other side of the doors, Sir.”

The Captain straightened, finally a development.

“Can you tell how many of them there are?”

“Sounds like just one, Sir. And they’re… talking to someone?”

“What are they saying? Can you match the vocal pattern with any in the database?” he pressed, finally coming to stand next to the Enforcer decked out with audio enhancement gear. They shook their helm.

“Negative, Sir. The thick walls are muffling everything, it’s impossible to clarify.”

The Captain rumbled lowly so that his thick gravelly vocoder vibrated down within the hollowed chasm of his chassis. Sterling silver servos clasped behind matching backplates in a tight, militant grasp.

“Keep on it. The Council wants to know who– ”

Before another dictation could be given the large gilded doors of the Tombs rumbled like low rolling thunder, slowly parting open to reveal the wall of shadows within. Every mecha stilled, watching on in their readied stances on the steps and ground level, focused on the target ahead… at least, where they had presumed the target would have been standing.

“Captain, there’s no one there!”

“They’re probably hiding. On my mark, advance with caution,” he yelled up to them from ground level.

Following command, the troupe finished scaling the last final steps, coming to spread out atop the landing with blasters trained on multiple angles.

“You think that myth is real?” a younger femme whispered to her battle buddy, who was less than enthusiastic about the comment but indulged her regardless.

“What myth?” he asked quietly.

“You know… that the Tombs are haunted…?”

“ _Haunted?_ ” he choked. Stiffening, the mech shot a scowl to her. “And you’re telling me this _now?_ Right when we’re standing outside this creepy looking thing?”

The femme shrugged, “I thought you knew! Didn’t your guardians ever read you recharge stories?”

“ _Not ones about ghosts!_ ” he countered, voice lifting just a decibel louder than before.

“Quiet– ” an older mech in the troupe spat, silencing the both of them. He didn’t want to hear any ghost stories either while they were in this position. Just seeing the looming, marble statues inside the tombs was enough to send a chill rolling up his spinal column. The uneasy tension radiating from their cluster was palpable, lingering in the airwaves like a dense fog. Waiting for someone – or _something_ – to manifest from the shadows.

*******

Optimus stood before the towering doors with narrowed optics. Denta squeaked against each other from the force of the hardened jawline, as his worn battle mask hissed into a locked position. Large servos reached up to tug the hood of the cloak forwards while audial fins retracted backward into the cloth coverings. Even with their irregular positioning he could still pick up the advancing mecha on the other side of the doors, biding their time until he waltzed right into whatever trap they had planned. By now, he had abandoned in trying to discern the muffled voices.

“How could I be so foolish as to let this happen…?” he murmured to the nothingness.

Silence. Optimus paced back and forth unthinkingly. A slow, telling habit.

“Perhaps I should have surrendered myself sooner. Surely, the Nova Council can be reasoned with…?”

“ _What do you hope to glean in lying to yourself, Prime?_ ”

Optimus glanced up to find Elita propped against one of the many openings to a corridor, the same one he had first travelled upon his arrival. They shared a knowing, bittersweet look. Without giving him a chance to answer she continued, arms folded over her chassis and helm cocked to the side.

“You know as well as I the Nova Council would just as quickly indict you for treason as they would banish you off-world, simply for the pleasure of doing so…”

Optimus snorted, “You speak as though you know definitively.”

“Would it be so egregious?”

The Prime stopped, peering over to her intrinsically.

“… _Do you?_ ”

Tinted lip plates pursed as Elita considered her answer, granting cool cerulean optics time to wander over his frame. Optimus took a step closer upon feeling her gaze; watching her watching him. A beat. Both pairs of optics shifted, cyan meeting cerulean across the lessened divide.

Elita vented, “I only know my instincts, Optimus, and my instincts tell me they cannot be trusted… or reasoned with.”

“That very well may be true. However, it is my duty as Prime to confront the Council when they have strayed from Cybertron’s best interests– ”

“ _Optimus_ … look around you,” she motioned vaguely, “The age of the Prime’s has ended. With your passing the Council ushered in a new age for a world without a Prime to rule. The balance has shifted and given the Council more power than we could have ever anticipated. Everything we have ever known has changed.”

Silence.

Optimus peered back to the gilded doors safeguarding them both from the unfamiliar world beyond. Another pause. Turning, he drew a thankful vent to see the fuchsia frame still standing in place; an arm’s length away, just out of reach.

“You would have me do nothing, then?”

Elita straightened in visual rebuke, “I never said that.”

“Then what _are_ you saying?” he pressed.

The soft challenge earned a conceding sigh from the femme. Peeling from the wall her skinny servos found their habitual resting place on protruding hip joints, icy optics locked onto their cyan counterpart.

“ _I’m saying_ … you need to pick your battles wisely. It will not be as it was last time with the High Council.” Elita’s features softened, “Something tells me that their minds will not be so easily swayed with eloquent, emotionally stirring words from a pious Archivist. Even if he still possesses the same abundant optimism he always has, _and charm_ …” she added, throwing the Prime a coquettish wink.

Optimus let free a small smile beneath the battle mask.

“Again, you speak so definitively…”

“ _Consider it instinct_ s– ”

Increased activity on the other side of the doors diverted both their attention, as each set of optics shot over in assessment.

“The Nova Council can be saved for another day. It is not safe for you here,” Elita urged, “You need to leave, _now_.”

“Wait– ”

Without thinking Optimus reached back and grabbed her arm, stopping Elita before she again stepped beyond his reach. Thick digits tightened their hold around the cool fuchsia plating, its phenomena had since been lost to him and was now blindly accepted for what it was.

“ _Wait_ …” he repeated softly.

Warm cyan stared down into cool cerulean, gazes speaking where words never could. Elita’s expression softened once more, reading his thoughts per usual as she brought her servo up to the side of his fascia. Retracting the battle mask just in time he felt the comforting touch for himself, relishing it for as long as she would oblige.

There was so much he wanted to ask, so much he wanted to say and yet, as always, the words were drowned in silence. How did she pass? Had she been in great pain? Why could she still communicate with him? Was she reaching out to him from beyond the Well, or was this something else entirely? Large optical ridges crinkled, wearing the pained thoughts in plain sight with a melancholic expression.

“ _Go_ …” she whispered, anticipating his refusal.

Optimus ex-vented gently and reached for Elita’s other servo, digits grazed over hers for a fraction of a second only to grasp at air as he went to take them in his hold. Optics blinked and she was gone. A mirage spurred by the loneliness of a shattered spark. Aching pulses plodded heavily in their casing, bitter and broken all over again. The fleeting presence only served as reminder of what he had lost, of what he desperately wished to be returned with every fibre of his being.

Denta grated to a point it made his jaw sore from the pressure. Whirling around, darkened cyan hues burned up to the doors, frame poised and at the ready to set the plan in motion. Open the doors and let them come. Drawing a steadying cycle of air, the ventilation trickled out from parted lip plates, manifesting in a sobered sigh. A gust of chilly air ghosted over his frame, permeating the cloak concealing crimson plates to weave itself within his very wiring. Optics shuddered closed, relishing the coolness for as long as it lasted, noticing how it held a certain warmth to it; a familiarity. Silent reassurance.

_Go_

She whispered to him in a tone so calm and melodic it sounded more like music than a command. Peeking back on a whim he half-expected to see her apparition at the mouth of the corridor once more, but was met only with shadows; the delicate, ethereal glow of their tomb consumed by the darkness. There was nothing left for him here, not anymore.

Filled with determinant resolve he voiced the command and with mighty groans above and tremors under pede, the doors lethargically creaked open. Optimus ducked into a small alcove off to the side for cover, watching the flecks of dust sprawled before the doors dance on the updraft, disrupted in their rest. Pulling the cloak tighter against him the Prime listened to the dull thuds of pede falls, much clearer now that the barrier had been eliminated.

“ _Captain, there’s no one there!_ ”

“ _They’re probably hiding. On my mark, advance with caution_.”

Adrenaline born from anticipated conflict burned beneath crimson plating, coursing through his Energon to give him an appropriate edge needed to execute the plan. Waiting in place for the signal the dizzying pent-up energy itched within his systems without immediate reprieve. The effects were comparable to an intoxicating drug, one he had experienced the high of countless times before and navigated expertly. Optical ridges furrowed into a focused, narrow gaze, fixated on the silver moonbeams shining in through the open doors.

Shadows of the approaching mecha stretched across the marble floor, crawling up the tall statues inch by inch before they too came to hesitate. Standing at the threshold they refused to cross the divide. Silence. The mecha shifted and whispered amongst themselves, waiting for orders to advance or signs of life within the tombs.

Optimus pressed his weight back against the cold wall, stifling once steady cycles to nothing more than anemic ventilations, filling the dead air with more of the same. Dimmed cyan optics darted from one silhouette to the next, studying the odd shapes from the alcove. Weapons systems whirred instinctively as arm plating near-silently retracted into a new configuration, freeing the duo-ion blaster from its internal housing to idle at his side.

_Beep!_

The dainty noise pierced the silence without warning, causing everyone in the vicinity, Optimus included, to stir in place. The Prime’s spark seized, failing to pulse for a fraction of a second.

“What was that?” an Enforcer asked, voicing the exact question Optimus had been thinking from his hiding spot.

“ _Hello, grunts…_ ” a femme crooned from high above.

Every helm on the landing whipped up at the voice, blasters targeted on the empty overhanging they had previously cleared minutes before. An eager trigger from a younger bot shot off a single blast in the voice’s direction, striking the decorative carvings running across the length of the entrance. A senior Officer grabbed hold of the blaster’s barrel, yanking it down from the target with a curse.

“Remember the rules of engagement! Only fire after being fired upon!”

Another Enforcer continued to scan the overhang and looming shadows, catching a glint of amber optics peering back from the darkness then promptly disappear.

“There’s something up there!” she squawked, pointing up to where the optics had materialized. Her battle buddy trembled, maybe the myth was real after all. Staring up into the darkness the shining optics reappeared, and he blurted out the words without a second thought.

“GHOST! IT’S A GHOST!”

The troupe yelped, staring up in search of the ghost, but the optics had vanished before anyone else could see it. Despite best intentions no one could resist commenting, adding to the rising paranoia.

“Where is it?!”

“It’s gone!”

“ _For Primus sake_ …”

“I swear on my spark it was right _THERE_ , staring down with big yellow optics!”

“Oh, come off it.”

_Beep!_

“Quiet, _QUIET_ – there’s that noise again!” one of the femme Enforcer’s cut in. Silence. Several long seconds passed, none daring to move or even ventilate too loudly.

_Beep!_

The group collectively jumped and gasped, huddling closer together instinctively, too spooked to make any other move. Having seen enough of the nonsense from the ground level the Captain stiffened to a rigid posture, practically spitting fire up at them.

“It’s not a ghost, you idiots! It’s one of the thieves!” he bellowed, “For Primus sake, don’t just stand there! Flush them ou– ”

_Beep-beep-beep-beep!_

Right then a spark-stopping chorus of flash-bangs set off one after the other in every direction. Starting at the front columns of the tombs, all the way down the steps, and leading to the war memorial stretching several hundreds of yards on the ground level. Blinding white bursts burned optics in their housings, leaving the troops to see spots as the deafening high-pitched frequency rang through any helm in close proximity. The flash-bangs exploded into thick grey smoke that immediately clogged vents and forced heaving coughs and wheezing chokes to join the cacophony. Whatever Enforcers and Officers that were able to claw their servos from their audials or optics shot wildly upwards and around amidst the blind attack, giving Nightbird the opportunity to take advantage of the planned distractions.

Diving from her perch above the towering doors she landed on her pedes at the tomb’s entrance with a heavy clank, optics glinting dangerously beneath a blackout visor.

“Let’s go!” she ordered inside.

 _That was the cue._ Optimus lunged from the alcove and into view, squinting against the bright bursts of white and plasma blue volleying back and forth in front of him. Follow who? Where the frag was she?

Seeing his confusion Nightbird disengaged her invisible camouflage and visor, bringing the sleek frame to view out of thin air. The Prime blinked in prelude to a comment, but she whirled to face the outer steps, denying him the chance.

“Stay close and follow me!”

Nightbird broke from the tombs open entryway and into the wall of smoke. Activating his battle mask he gave chase, easily shoving past the few Enforcers still scattered along the landing that stumbled into his path. Leaping down the first few steps he caught up with the smaller femme in a few strides, the both of them in tearing down the flight’s descent at a fast pace. A blind sprint into the belly of the beast.

The Captain choked on the burning smoke but kept his helm on swivel, scanning for the assailant’s frames despite the grey plumes obscuring any sort of view farther than an arm’s length away. Enforcers, Officers, and the nearest Peacekeepers came in and out of view as they simultaneously advanced and retreated, desperately trying to find better positioning and track the thieves. Madness. A carnal growl gurgled in the back of his intake.

“Don’t let them escape!” the Captain snarled, whirling around at the sudden rush of wind to his side. Aquamarine optics glared over, catching a glimpse of a trailing cloak flying behind a large figure. Raising his blaster to shoot an Enforcer tripped backwards into him from friendly fire, knocking the Captain accidentally off-kilter as he pulled the trigger. The plasma burst whizzed past Optimus within inches of his life and singed the edge of his hood. The pair disappeared back into the thick wall of smoke unscathed.

Yanking the bumbling Enforcer up to his pedes the Captain threw them forwards with a bellowed command.

“ _After them!_ ”

Every Enforcer that crossed their path was expertly dispatched with Nightbird making quick work of any threats. The way she moved so fluidly and with incredible speed could almost be considered mesmerizing were it not so gruesome. Vaguely reminiscent to the way Elita’s team would operate, but that was another thought for another time. Optimus opted to fire off warning shots whenever possible, or simply throw his weight into any mecha to spare them life threatening injuries. He had not restored Cybertron only to take more innocent lives, not even under dire circumstances such as these.

Unsheathing an Energon sword Nightbird lifted her arm to slice down an Officer from behind before they could be spotted, but Optimus caught it and pulled her back.

“ _No–_ ”

Spinning in his grip he kicked the mech deep into the surrounding cloud cover, a few scrapes were better than death in his opinion. Nightbird struggled against the larger and stronger hold, amber optics burning into cyan, both locked in equal challenge.

“What are you doing?” she snapped.

Looming over her with a darkened gaze, hoarse baritone dropped to a dangerous tone.

“ _No killing_ ,” he rumbled lowly.

Optimus let go and she pulled from him violently. A beat. Optics locked and Nightbird cursed, there was no time to argue. Sheathing her blade behind her backplates the femme broke into a sprint. The smoke wouldn’t last forever, and the clock was ticking.

Navigating the wayward plasma blasts from every direction while they ran Optimus heaved on the bitter, irritating air. Grunting, he twisted his massive frame in an awkward angle to evade a shot that would’ve left him out of commission had his reaction time been a fraction slower. Thick encompassing plumes illuminated in spastic bursts of plasma blue and slow to detonate flash-bangs, disorientating and chaotic. It was impossible to make out any sort of figure or direction, leaving him no choice but to trail the silver femme barreling forwards mercilessly.

“How much farther?” he shouted, then ducked at another oncoming blast.

“ _Almost there_ – ” Nightbird fired a few shots off to the side, calling back to him as best she could manage. “Get ready to jump!”

Distracted with a sudden blast coming from behind Optimus didn’t hear what she said, focused instead on shooting at an Enforcer tailing him.

“ _What?_ ” he shouted.

The shot hit its target, taking out the mecha’s pede with a superficial injury. The trained gaze watched as the mecha fell and skidded across the surface, swallowed shortly after by the smoke.

“JUMP!”

Optimus looked up at the command too late. The ground abruptly gave way beneath his pedes and he free fell through a literal ground bridge that had appeared out of nowhere. A startled yelp freed itself from his vocoder, silenced as backplates smashed horizontally against cold steel flooring, stealing the air from his vents. The Prime wheezed, it took a second for him to process the change in gravity. Tipping his helm back Optimus noted how the bridge faced the starry sky above Iacon, he had fallen both down and sideways somehow. The realization lasted only a second before the bridge dissipated into a pinwheel of colours, followed by a gust of wind that billowed through folds in his cloak. Just like that stillness replaced the previous chaos, the warzone now a sterile chrome holding room.

Another wheeze. Ion blasters reconfigured into large servos as the mech pushed himself up into a seated position with slight difficulty and discomfort. Pausing, he reached to gently rub the sore spot on the back of his helm where he had smacked into the ground on initial landing. Optimus winced at the touch, feeling the makings of an indentation already setting in. Catching his ventilation cycles, with the assistance of regulated air, cyan hues flicked over to the silver femme watching him. It would seem she had landed on her pedes with ease. A better warning would have been appreciated…

“Thank you,” Optimus murmured, mindful to keep the cloak and hood in place.

“Don’t thank me just yet,” Nightbird replied, blasters trained on his form still seated on the ground. “Servos where I can see them. Nice and slow.”

Working through the beginnings of a minor concussion the Prime opted to stay in place, no matter how undignified. On the subject of picking his battles wisely, he sought to follow his Conjunx’s sage advice.

“Had you the intention of killing me you would have done so already,” he murmured, eyeing the faceless femme from beneath the tattered hood. With a speed he hadn’t anticipated her Energon sword swung towards his helm, bringing the tip to stop within inches of his neck cabling. Its radiating heat licked at his chinplate.

“Servos. _Now_ – ” she repeated, more forcefully this time.

Optimus complied and cracks of old joints filled the room. He winced again beneath the battle mask hoping the sounds would go ignored. Another blessing, they did. The femme simply stood there; sword unmoving from its dangerously close position. A fear tactic he knew all too well, and felt no intimidation in.

Seizing the opportunity to study his captor cyan hues darted about the sleek frame, finally able to make out her features – or lack thereof – now that she wasn’t obscured by smoke. Sterling silver from helm to pede, deep violet fascia juxtaposed bright amber optics. No defining finnials or horns that he could note, not even her kibble seemed to make for a recognizable silhouette. She was a perfect stranger. Ridges furrowed. Unhelpful.

A muted whoosh sounded from behind, but he knew better than to turn, keeping his gaze forwards to watch the femme lower her weapon immediately as if by silent command, even going so far as to step away. Curiosity piqued. Audials flicked beneath the hood, listening as heavy weight shifted a short distance from his backplating. Whoever it was they were sizeable, possibly even rivalling his own stature.

“Whatever your plans are with me, may I at least have the dignity of knowing who I am in debt to?” Optimus brought himself to ask.

A beat. His query went unanswered. Nightbird gave a short nod to the figure behind the Prime and slipped out through an unmarked door. Optimus looked forwards at the cobalt blob reflected on chrome walls, squinting as though it would help clarify the image. Again, unhelpful.

“And here I thought you woulda figured it out by now. Gotta say, Op, I’m a lil’ disappointed…” a femme drawled from behind.

The voice filled his audials with overwhelming familiarity, claiming a sputtered cycle of air from aged vents. _No,_ _it couldn’t be…_ Optimus twisted his top half so quickly it threatened to snap his spinal column, resulting in an ungodly mixture of pops and cracks. But it was well worth the temporary pain. There, standing in the doorway he found a smirking Chromia, older and more weathered than last he saw her, but still, alive. Cyan hues lit up in a way that hadn’t been seen in eons, and the battle mask retracted to bring to view the full disbelief and shock etched in his expression. He shook his helm slowly, dubiously, widened gaze meeting hers uninterrupted and undeterred.

“ _Chromia?_... _Is that really you?_ ” the trembling words tumbled from the baritone vocoder cautiously, laced with an underlying elation he forgot he could possess.

The Camien’s smile split across scratched fascia upon hearing her designation, and Optimus knew in that moment, without a doubt, it was really her. He sucked in another shallow vent, heaving on the cycle of air caught in his chassis. Chromia held out a servo to the still splayed out Prime, and he took it without hesitation.

“Welcome back, old friend.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OOOF, THE REUNION I HAVE BEEN WAITING FOR, LAWWWWWD. Okay, I am so so excited to finally get to write that sweet sweet Chromia and Optimus friendship/dynamic. Especially after all this time, and with both Ironhide AND Elita gone now. I was trying not to rush to this part... but I couldn't resist LOL.
> 
> Woof. I'm a lil' rusty at writing action sequence so also... apologies if the 'escape' was rough. It's something I'm still working on and learning to craft. Everything comes with practice. I'm also posting this at midnight #yolo
> 
> QUESTION TIME. Now that Optimus is back, do you think Ultra Magnus will stay in command, or will there be friction? How will the other bots take the news of his return? Am I going to stop dicking around and get some more Decepticons in this b*tch? Comment below and let me know your thoughts, theories, feels - I read it all! Also, make sure to follow, bookmark, kudos, and stay tuned... <333


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